


roundin' third and headed for home

by elegantstupidity



Series: put me in coach [1]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 147,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: prompted fic from tumblrtable of contents in the first chapter





	1. Table of Contents

[2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19420252). bawson prompt: they go out to dinner with blip/evelyn and only realise later on that it was a double date :)

[3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19420258). bawson do yoga. mike can't stop staring at ginny's ass. if they happen to end up in bed, there would be no complaints here ;) x

[4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19485433). Bawson is planning out when to have a baby soo MIke can be a superdad after he retired and Ginniy can still have an awesome carrier and them actively trying for a baby ;) thnx !!!!!

[5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19501018). **wrong time for somebody new** :I just have this vision of Mike maybe being down the hall or something and seeing Ginny reject his call after she talked to Amelia and him seeing how sad she looked and realizing how bad he messed up.

[6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19522417).  **it's always a risk (to speak to the press)** : Can you please write one where Ginny and Mike tell Amelia off? Like maybe Bawson are dating and Amelia tries to break them up at some thing

[7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19705717).  **situation: lost control** : Can I ask for a Bawson wedding please

[8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018).  **years have gone so fast:** You know I really love it if we could get cuddly Ginny in fic form

[9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19914139).  **right between the ribs:**  How about a one shot where Ginny tells Mike of for not telling her about Amelia.

[10](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952989).  **i guess it's just as well:** Could you do a Rachel watching Lawson and Baker together and realizing hes in love with Ginny and over her

[11](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952656).  **i'll hold you (in a cold place):** I was hoping that eventually you could write a continuation to this [[years have gone so fast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018)] when the season finishes and they finally get together?

[12](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20093983).  **if i hadn't blown the whole thing** : Could you write something along the lines of idk Ginny getting jealous bcs of some woman Mike's been seen around with a lot lately, and the guys are maybe pestering him about it but Ginny's just a simmering mess until she blows up and maybe confronts him?

[13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20128093).  **the moral comments of the neighbors** : I've got two Bawson prompts for you: 1- Ginny and Mike babysitting the Sanders Twins 2- Ginny and Mike secretly married (continuation of chapter 2)

[14](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20183026).  **something might be found** : a bunch of people asked for a continuation on chapter 12: [if i hadn't blown the whole thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20093983), but shout out specifically to moonstruckdreamer who had finals this week!

[15](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20326699).  **hard to recover lost ground** : I cant believe I'm asking for this but can you write one where Mike walkes in on Ginny kissing Noah?

[16](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20332675).  **like we're not scared:** Bawson Prompt inspired by the Adele song All I Ask.

[17](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20530243).  **many times, many ways** : Okay no angst request this time. But a Padres Christmas Party and Mike gets Ginny and autographed poster of him, "For your collection" also Ginny got him her jersey. Guess im feeling fluffy today.

[18](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20422870).  **faster. bolder. higher.** : I was rewatching the workour-part of episode 2 and I would love a story about the guys i the team working out with Ginny trying to keep up and not being able to. Maybe even in the beginning where they didn´t respect her yet

[19](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20469673).  **allow me the influence:**  Mike takes their kid(s?) to a game that Ginny's pitching and narrates the whole thing for them!

[20](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21021404).  **now we're partners in crime** : Continuation of chapter 7, [situation: lost control](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19705717)

[21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20742793).  **sport-like scrutiny** : Ginny's pregnancy gets announced by the media before she has a chance to tell Mike, and she's a lot further along than anyone realizes.

[22](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20804458). **we'll eventually emerge:** Would love to see a fic in 1x10 where Mike actually knocks on Ginny's door instead of Rachels.

[23](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20905271).  **maybe, hopefully, against all odds:** A couple people asked for the reasoning behind Christine’s name, and then I realized I should be honest about Ruby, too. So here’s a prequel to [allow me the influence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20469673)!

[24](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21112085).  **we'll conquer them all** : fluffy bawson? Like the fluffiest or if you feel up to it pt. 3 to [years have gone so fast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018) (pt 1) / [i’ll hold you (in a cold place)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952656) (pt 2)

[25](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21374432). **got you deep in the heart of me** : Mike finds out that during a boozey weekend in Vegas Ginny gets his number tattooed and now I he really needs to see it. 

[26](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21545609).  **if we lay a strong enough foundation** : Do you write aus? Because what about one where Bill Baker is still alive and Ginny has to finally tell him and her Mike.

[27](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21566753).  **i'm just human (don't judge me)** : Ginny trying to handle it when she and Mike are together but not public and women hit on him while they’re out with the team.

[28](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21593480).  **forgetting is so long:** angsty angst. yelling at each other about anything and everything: ginny's pitching, mike's attitudes, their distractions with rachel and ginny's new boyfriend. them in each other's faces. but then passionate makeout, brushing it off, and 'we shouldn't have done that', and scene.

[29](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21616328).  **she just does it because she likes you:** Mike makes a hilarious blooper at first base and Ginny won’t let him live it down

[30](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22024019). **the way things change:** I was told that [i guess it’s just as well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952989) needed a happier ending, so.

[31](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22051820).  **only operating with half my burners:** Ginny moves out of the hotel and can’t get room service, so Mike volunteers to teach her to cook.

[32](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22381544). **used to be my childhood dream:** how did a girl in North Carolina end up with a San Diego Padre as her favorite player?

[33](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22356035).  **out there on the road** : how they deal with the first spring training after Mike retires

[34](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22939737).  **lose inhibitions/give exhibitions:** Ginny getting roofied at a club and Protective!Mike.

[35](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23326884).  **she's overboard, self assured:** Can we get Ginny acting out in the space between her dad dying and reporting to the minors. Ginny’s first time with a college guy who’s back home in Tarboro for the summer and introduces her to all sorts of fun and risky things.

[36](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23597547).  **another chance for us to get it right:** I'd love to see how Mike and Ginny end up together at the end of a night that began with him showing up with Rachel and her still with Noah.

[37](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23621685).  **baseball is pretty good too** : Ginny having a bad day, mike bringing food to her hotel room, they fall asleep together & wake up cuddling (smut if you want)

[38](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/24050265).  **easy as 1, 2, 3:** can I please get a fic of Ginny where she's Mike's daughter's kindergarten teacher?

[39](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23669232).  **way more than you hate it:** Jealous!mike when guys keep flirting with ginny at the club

[40](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23742579).  **a wordless, unspoken poem** : mike driving ginny home after a night of partying & their obvious connection becomes too much for them

[41](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23792541).  **wake up to reality** : Can I pretty please request a follow-up to your [tattoo-ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21374432) because wow would I like to see that premise actually run its course to when Mike finds out exactly what Ginny is hiding!

[42](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23966463).  **just like a ring of fire** : it would be greatly appreciated :) Ginny plays a game of "never have I ever" with Evelyn and some of the Padre's WAGS. And learns that one WAG had a fling with Mike.

[43](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23967396).  **makes you feel safe** : mike is the little spoon to ginny's big spoon.

[44](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23996586).  **those who wait** : Mike and Ginny getting close during spring training and close to opening day one of them has the line, "I can't keep doing this with you."

[45](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/24331320).  **my soul is not satisfied** : A (slightly) less angsty follow up to "[forgetting is so long](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21593480)" which everyone and their mother requested

[46](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/25349187).  **knock your socks off** : Ginny decides to switch to the high socks/tighter pants version of the uniform and Mike can't concentrate catching/realizes he has a latent knee sock fetish.

[47](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/24537192).  **cheap medicine** : ginny get sick with the flu during off season and Mike takes care of her

[48](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/24584952).  **need a place to hide** : Could you write something where mike calms Ginny down from a nightmare or argument or something? Mike Lawson teddy bear moments are my weakness.

[49](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/25053813).  **eh bien, tant pis** : a continuation of [only operating with half my burners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22051820)

[50](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/25151916).  **behind the door** : Now just imagine Mike and Ginny are fooling around, he can't wait to have his way with her only for Janet to come traipsing through the house and interrupts them. It takes everything in Mike not to snap

[51](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/26141691).  **it's sinking in** : Mike/Blip/the team's reaction to the video of Ginny's dunk into the pool. (Mike's POV pre-[right between the ribs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19914139))


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [tobiasmquinn](http://www.tobiasmquinn.tumblr.com): bawson prompt: they go out to dinner with blip/evelyn and only realise later on that it was a double date :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: blind date (kind of), matchmaker!evelyn, secrets

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

Ginny looked down at herself, took in the soft, blue button up tucked into the waistband of her jeans. “Yes?” she responded, shooting Evelyn a confused look. “I thought you said this place is casual.”

“It is, but—” Evelyn cut herself off with a sigh. “You know what? It’s fine. It’s fine! Now, hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

To be honest, Ginny Baker was not sure what exactly was up with Evelyn Sanders. Maybe the stress of mothering two middle-schoolers was finally getting to her. Whatever the cause, Evelyn had been itching for a night out. Ginny, being an excellent friend, had offered up an evening of Evelyn’s choosing and was promptly informed of a new tapas place Mike was taking them to.

Ginny hadn’t known what to do about the gleam in Evelyn’s eye, so she just nodded and said, “Cool. Okay.”

Now that the night was upon them, though, Ginny was thinking that maybe the twins weren’t the cause for Evelyn’s shiftiness. 

Because it was very clear that Evelyn (and Blip, too) had been scheming. 

The result of which was Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker sitting side by side in slightly awkward silence after the Sanders fled the table nearly ten minutes ago.

(”Oh, it’s Sandra! I think she’s calling about the boys. Blip, why don’t we take this outside?”

“Wha—? Oh! Right. Yeah, baby. Let’s go make sure the boys are behaving.”

“Mike, you and Ginny can order if the waiter comes by. This might take a while. No garlic!”)

“So,” Mike drawled, not even bothering to look at Ginny. “They’re trying to set us up.”

“Yep.”

“Should we tell ‘em?”

“Tell them what?” Ginny took a sip of wine and looked at her retired captain out of the corner of her eye.

He huffed and Ginny could tell he wanted to cross his arms, maybe even spit. Sometimes, she was sure, Mike Lawson didn’t realize that the world wasn’t his ball field. His eyes slid over to hers, though, and he grinned. “I dunno. Maybe that we _are_  dating?”

She hummed in thought and caught a glimpse of Evelyn’s brightly patterned skirt peek out from the hallway to the bathroom. When the woman herself didn’t make an appearance, but the reflective surface of her pocket mirror did, Ginny chuckled and nudged the man next to her. When he finally caught on, he rolled his eyes but laughed, too.

“Why ruin their fun?”

“You’re the boss, Baker,” he conceded, a secretive smile pulling at his mouth. 

Still, when Evelyn and Blip finally made their way back to the table, Ginny laid her hand high on Mike’s thigh and struggled not to grin at the way he immediately tensed at the intrusion. Using the clatter and scraping of the chairs, Ginny murmured, “Their fun doesn’t have to ruin our fun.”

Lawson’s feral grin and the confused look between Blip and Evelyn was well worth her bold move. 

 _Yeah_ , Ginny thought at the end of the night, laying sweaty and sated in Mike Lawson’s sheets. _I really should go along with Evelyn’s schemes more often_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know why they always end up in bed, but I'm not gonna argue with it. 
> 
> as always, come freak out with me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)! My ask box is currently open for more prompts :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: prompt: bawson do yoga. mike can't stop staring at ginny's ass. if they happen to end up in bed, there would be no complaints here ;) x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: yoga and the pants involved, fluff

When Ginny finally found her captain, he was buried under a mountain of blankets and pillows. If it weren’t for a surprisingly well manicured foot sticking out at the end of the bed, she wouldn’t even know he was there. But his housekeeper had led her to his bedroom and walked away, so she’d assumed he was around. Somewhere. 

As she padded into the room, though, his toes twitched, almost as if he wanted to withdraw it into his blanket nest and hide completely. Ginny stopped next to the bed and cleared her throat. Nothing. Not even a groan of protest. Idly, she considered flopping onto the bed herself, the way she did when Marcus and Gabriel were hiding under the covers. Somehow, though, she was pretty sure that pretending to smother Mike Lawson wouldn’t work out the way it did with the Sanders twins.

Instead, she kicked the bed frame, glad she hadn’t left her shoes at the front door. “Ass outta bed, Lawson,” she barked. 

Pillows shifted and the bearded mountain man she called her team captain poked his head out. He glared, but not at all blearily. Just as she suspected, he’d known she was there. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to get your ass in gear. You and I have got yoga again.”

He tried to duck back into his cocoon, but Ginny yanked at the blanket, tearing it off the bed. Mike just covered his face with a pillow in response. 

Ginny laughed disbelievingly. “Oh my god, you baby.”

Grudgingly, Mike sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If I were a baby, I would have working knees, meaning I wouldn’t need to do whatever low-impact bullshit you’ve got planned,” he muttered mulishly.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got ten minutes or I’m starting without you.”

* * *

Mike ambled out onto his pool deck precisely thirteen minutes later and was greeted by the sight he’d been dreading. Well, dreading and dreaming of in equal measure. 

Because right there, before his very eyes, was Ginny Baker’s perfect, spandex-covered, pear-shaped ass. 

That was why he hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. Because he’d definitely spent too much of their first session completely absorbed by the shift of flesh beneath the clingy material. He’d paid so much attention, in fact, that he’d had actual dreams about her ass. 

What, exactly, those dreams included, Mike Lawson would never admit, least of all to her. He might be something of a man-whore, but he also knew which lines not to cross. 

“Get your ass over here, old man,” Baker snapped, the heat in her voice belying the serenity of her pose. 

Because deflecting was the only way Mike could see surviving this, he smirked as he advanced on Ginny Baker’s DIY yoga studio. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned my ass today, rookie. Got something on your mind?”

“If you’d do these exercises, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about what’ll support your ass when your knees finally go,” she sniped. He could see the way she refused to blush, meeting his smug stare with an embarrassed/exasperated one of her own. 

God, she was too easy to wind up. Maybe if he kept at it, she’d forget that she was supposed to be getting him to bend and twist in ways he hadn’t been capable of with two working knees. He probably wouldn’t get _that_ lucky, but at least he'd have a good view. If he can make out anything while the blood rushed to his head.

* * *

Two mornings later, and Ginny had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Because there she was, standing next to Mike Lawson’s bed, and there he was, wrapped up in his pile of blankets, telling her to go away. Rather than try and argue with him, Ginny went straight for the blankets.

She tugged, but Lawson was prepared. He tugged back and somehow, the ever-ready Ginny Baker was caught off guard and went tumbling into bed with her captain. 

She spit out a mouthful of duvet and propped herself up. There, hardly a foot away were Lawson’s wide, hazel eyes. He looked torn between shock and amusement. Apparently, amusement won because he flopped back onto the mattress and pretty much roared with laughter. 

Ginny glared, but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at the corner of her lips. Eventually, she gave in and giggled, too, burying her face in one of the many pillows. It was so soft. She melted a little into the warmth of the big bed. Maybe Lawson was onto something with this mess of bedding. 

“Oh, good,” Mike gasped, dragging in choking breaths as the last few laughs left his system. Didn’t mean he hadn’t missed Baker snuggling into his bed, which, frankly, was not a visual that he really needed. “This mean we can forget about fucking yoga today?”

Leveling him with an acid glare, she demanded, “Do you want another season or not, Lawson? Because I don’t have to be here—”

He reached out and clapped a hand over her mouth. Immediately, like muscle memory because she had grown up with an older brother, she retaliated. 

“Jesus, Baker! Did you just lick me?”

“Only because you put your nasty hand all over my face!”

“You’re a child,” he groaned, finally rolling out of bed. Because Ginny Baker sprawled out in his sheets was not something that he could walk away from, Mike very carefully turned his back on the bed and headed out the door. “Come on, Baker. I think I’m gonna get that moon pose today.”

If Ginny took a few moments longer than necessary to haul herself out of his bed, well, she could always say she was just steeling herself to deal with Lawson. 

“Ass outta bed, Baker!” he called, voice echoing off all the reflective surfaces in his house.

After all, it wasn’t a total lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i don't know anything about yoga. But that was fun! It's nice to know that I haven't completely moved away from the excruciating ust. jk, it's terrible, i'm literally living in a hole of feels.
> 
> as always, this hole is open to all visitors. if you've got a prompt or feelings that need an outlet, leave 'em here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoakin’Hot had this prompt: can u write one. where Bawson is planning out when to have a baby soo MIke can be a superdad after he retired and Ginniy can still have an awesome carrier and them actively trying for a baby ;) thnx !!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: family planning, baby!fic, parenting anxiety

When the little plastic stick literally fell into his lap, Mike Lawson wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He had his suspicions, but he didn’t know for sure. 

So, he looked away from his tablet and focused his attention on the fidgety ballplayer standing at the foot of the bed. “What’s this, Baker?”

She bit her lip, shifting her weight anxiously, which only solidified Mike’s suspicions. “You said you wanted to start trying. Here’s your chance,” she said, looking a little nauseated. 

Mike looked back down at the stick, the smiley face grinning up from the little window. “I, uh. I thought they used a plus sign, now,” he admitted, looking back up at his 28-year-old girlfriend. 

Which, that was something he really needed to revel in more. Mike Lawson, retired catcher and captain of the San Diego Padres, current contributor for FS1, at 41 years of age officially had a hot, young girlfriend. A girlfriend who happened to be a helluva lot more impressive than he ever was. Seriously, how many men dreamed of getting to date Ginny Baker? And he was the lucky son of a bitch who did? Unreal.

But that girlfriend was currently looking at him like he was some sort of schmuck. To be fair, he definitely was, but usually when he got that look, he’d done something to deserve it. 

“What are you talking about?” she asked flatly.

“Y’know. The two lines were too confusing, so they moved to the little, pink plus sign?”

“Do you think that’s a pregnancy test, Lawson?”

“Isn’t it?” The fact that he hadn’t started freaking out the minute his brain made that connection was a testament to how freaked out he was. Which didn’t even make sense, but Mike Lawson’s brain was not operating at full capacity at the moment.

That sense of confusion was only compounded when Ginny collapsed on the bed in a fit of laughter. “Did you—” she gasped, clutching her sides. She tried getting her question out a few more times, but kept dissolving into giggles. Mike looked on helplessly, though a bit annoyed. “Did you really think that’s how I’d tell you I’m pregnant?” 

Mike frowned down at her, unsure of how to answer. No, he hadn’t really thought she’d drop that kind of bomb so casually, but what else was he supposed to think? Seeing his discomfort, Ginny pushed herself up and curled next to him at the head of the bed. 

“I’m ovulating, not pregnant,” she murmured into the curve of his shoulder.

He turned and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. The confusing piece of plastic still rested in his hands. “So…”

“So, we can start trying.” She drew away and looked up, “Unless you’re not ready—”

“If you’re ready, I’m ready, rook,” he promised, pulling her into his side. He’d been ready for a while, to be honest. Ready to be a dad and have a family with Ginny Baker at his side. She, understandably, had been a bit more leery of the whole idea, but they’d finally gotten to the same place. The idea of actually trying to get someone pregnant—something he’d actively avoided his entire adult life—was daunting, but he and Ginny could handle it. 

Still, he had a few doubts.

“You’re sure you want to do this during the season?” he double checked as she slid into his lap, tossing the tablet away.

“We’ve discussed this,” she replied, not even bothering to pull away from laying kisses against his jaw.

“Yeah, but—”

“Kerri Walsh played in the Olympics while she was pregnant and she did it in a bikini.”

Like he needed the reminder. It was her favorite pregnant athlete factoid to throw at him when he started second guessing their plans. And there were plans. They’d literally sat down with a calendar and plotted out a hypothetical pregnancy in relation to baseball season. If she got pregnant by May or June, Spring Training would be out of the question, but she’d still get to play in the regular season, which was important to the both of them. Mike’s baseball career might have been over, but Ginny had good years left in her. 

Honestly, Mike couldn’t be more excited to take his kid to Petco to cheer on their mom. It was the in between parts that he was nervous about. 

“Beach volleyball isn’t baseball, Gin,” he argued, though his hands cupping her ass probably undermined the strength of his point.

She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “I know you’ve seen the way they fling themselves around on the sand, so let’s not pretend baseball is somehow more strenuous.”

“Okay, but what if you pop early?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. With good reason. They’d been over every possible complication ad nauseam, but if her catcher needed soothing, she would do that. After all, she’d had her share of anxieties, too. Still did. “Then I go on the DL and stay inactive for the rest of the season.”

He nodded. He knew he probably shouldn’t be feeling quite so serious with a lapful of his gorgeous, talented, out-of-her-mind-for-choosing-him girlfriend, but he couldn’t quite help it. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he confessed, leaning his forehead against her collarbone. 

Her nails skated calming circles against his scalp. “I know.” She also knew better than to offer promises she couldn’t necessarily keep. “It’s the same for me, you know.”

A huff of disbelieving laughter puffed against her chest. “Don’t think there’s quite as much that can get me.”

She smiled even as she knew it was the unexpected she had to worry about. Gently, she cupped his cheek and he leaned into her palm, like a cat. “I don’t know what I should tell you, Mike,” she admitted. “Inspirational speeches were always your job.”

“Very funny,” he muttered, nuzzling against her neck. 

Ginny sighed at the soft rub of his beard against her skin. Still, she pushed him away, just far enough that she could look him in the eye. “I can’t promise that you won’t get scared. I can’t promise that I won’t, but I want this. With you. So, if you’re not ready to try, we’ll wait. A year or two or however long you need, but my mind’s made up, Mike Lawson.”

His name was hardly out of her mouth before he was kissing the sound of it away. Fingers curled around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible. Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, unwilling to let him pull away even a hair. She wasn’t sure why, but kissing Mike always felt like the first time, an electric thrill running down her spine and along her arms. Hair-raising in the best way.

When she ended up on her back with the weight of a former major league catcher on top of her, she burst into peals of bright laughter. 

“Something funny, Baker?” he growled into the muscles of her stomach. 

“You,” she giggled, coaxing him into retaliation.

“Oh, I’ll show you funny,” he threatened. The awed, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth didn’t lend itself to his intimidation, but Ginny could forgive him. Especially when he put his mind into turning her giggles into something much, much better. 

* * *

When the first Baker-Lawson made her way into the world almost exactly 40 weeks later, there were no doubts in his mind. Looking down into his daughter’s perfect, wrinkled face, he couldn’t believe he’d thought she might be too big a risk. Crowding in with an exhausted Ginny on the hospital bed, they gazed adoringly at their baby girl. 

Ginny’s head tipped against his shoulder, her sweaty curls nearly matted to her neck and forehead. God, she was beautiful. 

The moment the words came out of his mouth, Mike knew he should have waited, picked a better time. A time when his girlfriend—and the ring burning a hole in his pocket seemed to flare extra hot at that—hadn’t just spent the last nine hours in labor. But, well, Mike Lawson was never that good at sitting still. 

“So, when are we gonna get started on a buddy for this one?”

When he didn’t get a response, though, he tore his eyes away from the bundle in his arms. Ginny’s eyes had drifted closed and her chest rose in steady, even breaths. He pressed a kiss to her sleeping head and settled in for the long haul.

“That’s all right,” he murmured, his own eyes drifting shut as he curled the baby closer to his chest. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really sappy, like tooth-ache inducing sappy. But I had fun, so no regrets :)
> 
> Thanks for the prompt and if anyone else would like to leave one of their own, drop me a comment or an ask on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)!


	5. wrong time for somebody new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olicity_McSwarek: I have one idea but it’s maybe a little angsty, I don’t know if you like to write that kind of stuff. I just have this vision of Mike maybe being down the hall or something and seeing Ginny reject his call after she talked to Amelia and him seeing how sad she looked and realizing how bad he messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: angst, post-Alfonzo Guzman-Chavez, canon compliant Mike x Amelia
> 
> chapter title: "9 Crimes" by Damien Rice

Mike Lawson wouldn’t go so far as to run through the halls of Petco Park to avoid being late. After all, he was a man who loved his grand entrances. But, he was running late for BP and maybe he was growing as a person if being late was starting to bug him. 

It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the snarky comments from a certain rookie. 

The fact of the matter was that Mike Lawson had resolved to stop showing up late to warm ups and was about to screw it up on day one. Hey, old habits are hard to break. 

He’d settle for being slightly less late than usual, which was why he blew straight by Amelia, hardly even bothering to shoot her a wink as he went. If she opened her mouth to say something, Mike didn’t notice, too busy fishing his phone out of his pocket. A certain pitcher had promised to fund his post-game drinking if he managed to get to the park by 4:30 for their 7:10 game, and he intended to collect. Sure, it was currently 4:45, but she couldn’t really have expected him to be on site so early, right?

He had her number dialed and the phone to his ear as he rounded the last corner to the clubhouse. As the line rang, he was greeted by quite the unusual sight. Ginny Baker still in her street clothes less than two and a half hours before a game. He was about to end the call and crow about how she couldn’t nag him for being late when the line went dead and he was greeted by the smooth, professional voice she used around the press.

“This is Ginny Baker’s phone. If you’re trying to reach me for a comment, please contact Amelia Slater. If not, please leave a message after the beep.”

As her voice sounded in his ear, Mike watched Ginny stare at her phone, not even ten feet down the hall. She had her back to him, but he’d been catching for her for about a month, now. Certainly long enough to read her body language. The slump of her shoulders, the angle of her head, it was textbook overwhelmed Baker. This was Baker when she’d just hurled a fastball when he asked for a slider and the batter really caught hold of it. What the hell was going on? She turned to the doors of the clubhouse and _finally_  Mike caught a glimpse of her face. 

He did not like what he was seeing. 

Even in profile, Ginny’s robot face was instantly recognizable. It was the mask she wore when she was feeling really vulnerable. When she had the bases loaded and the cleanup batter was up in the count. Mike had thought it was just part of her media training, go blank rather than let the cameras catch wind of any anxiety. He hadn’t ever seen her go so still and blank off the field. 

A heavy weight settled in his gut. 

She looked down at the quiet, dark phone and heaved a sigh before pushing into the clubhouse and out of Mike’s sight. Belatedly, he ended the call, too confused to worry about the charged silence he’d leave in her inbox.

The weight settled lower. 

Because Mike Lawson did not appreciate the obtrusive presence of that weight, he practically crashed into the clubhouse, intent on tracking down Baker and asking her what the fuck was up. It was one thing to miss a call, but to decline it entirely? He was her captain for God’s sake and he wanted answers. Unfortunately, while indignation made it easier to ignore the tugging, roiling burden in his gut, it did not make it any easier to track down Ginny Baker. 

When he banged on her dressing room door, calling her name, she replied she’d be ready in a few minutes. He turned his back and the next thing he knew, she’d already headed out to the field for long toss with Blip. 

That weight started feeling more like a void.

When he tried to sit next to her in the dugout, she fidgeted for a few pitches before pushing herself up and crowding herself between Melky and Elin at the barrier fence. 

The void yawned wider. 

Every time he tried to get her to acknowledge him, she slipped away. He’d think it was just a coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that the robot mask remained firmly in place the whole game. Around him, at least. With Margolis and Salvamini and Voorhies, she was all smiles and stupid jokes. She taught the bat boy a ridiculous handshake, left the kid beaming. But when she caught Mike looking, that stiff, empty expression slipped back into place.

The void threatened to eat him from the inside out. 

Mike wasn’t used to feeling this way. The only comparable event he could think of was when Rachel told him she was leaving, which was beyond ridiculous. He’d been _married_ to Rachel. For years. Loved her beyond reason for even longer. Getting the cold shoulder from this rookie pitcher who he’d known for maybe a month was in no way comparable to being left by his wife. Still, he couldn’t deny that the gnawing, aching strain lodged somewhere between his lungs, his heart, and his stomach was awfully familiar.

It wasn’t until after the game, when the clubhouse was almost entirely empty that he managed to actually ambush her. 

“I was here on time today,” he informed her as she finally stepped out of her little cubicle. “You owe me some drinks, rookie.”  _And an explanation for rejecting my call,_ he wanted to add.

She looked a little surprised to see him, like she hadn’t noticed he’d been trying to corner her for the past three hours. Ginny shook off her surprise and the expressionless facade reappeared. She pushed past him and headed for the clubhouse exit. Mike followed because there was never any chance that he wouldn’t. 

“I don’t think so. I was late today and you definitely got here after me.”

“I was on time for me. Got to do actual BP, too. Haven’t done that in years,” he grinned, hoping to crack that smooth exterior and soothe the ominous lurch in his gut.

She flicked an incredulous glance at him, but her lips didn’t quiver the way they usually did when she was holding back a laugh. “And people say athletes don’t deserve all the money they get paid.”

“Hilarious. Come on, you can spend some of that undeserved cash on your captain,” he goaded, wishing she would just stop and they could talk like normal people.

“Can’t,” she replied. “I promised Eliot I’d go over some of our social media strategy after the game.”

“What? Didn’t have any faith in my ability to get to the park on time?”

Ginny shrugged and pushed through the last set of doors between them and the team entrance. “That. And I figured you’d be busy.”

“Too busy for drinks with my favorite rookie?”

Somehow, that’s what made Ginny’s mask crack. Mike watched the flash of hurt crackle through her eyes before she closed them, cutting off his view into her pain. Finally, she stopped walking, turning to face him.

“I figured you’d be busy with Amelia. Y’know, the woman that you’ve been seeing.”

There was no sign of that pain as she dropped that bomb. But the robot wasn’t back in full force, either. She just looked at him, searching. 

“Oh,” he said, entirely too eloquent. “Yeah.”

She sighed and echoed him, “Yeah.”

“Listen, I was going to—”

“It’s fine. You’re both adults and you both get to make your own decisions. Like I told Amelia, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Right.” _Really, Lawson. Killing it with the communication today_. 

“Cool. I’ve gotta go meet up with Eliot, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Ginny Baker walked out of Petco into the San Diego night and left Mike Lawson behind. 

Where he stood, lost in thought for too long.

 _She said she’s fine with it_ , he told himself. He didn’t even try to argue back with any bullshit about women definitely meaning what they say. He’d been burned on that front before. 

Blip’s words echo through his mind. _You know it’ll get out. And it’ll be a lot better for everybody if she hears it from you._

Except, Ginny finding out about him and Amelia really couldn’t have gone any better, despite his silence on the subject. She’d had a rough couple of days, worrying about her first trade deadline. It was entirely possible that she hadn’t been avoiding him on purpose. Maybe she just had a lot on her mind. 

The more Mike tried to convince himself, the more insistently the weight or void or whatever pressed against his sternum. The more it pressed, the harder it was not to call it by name. And doing that would make it real, would mean that all his rationalizations were just wishful thinking. 

Mike Lawson couldn’t bring himself that far. 

So, he stopped thinking about it. He took Baker’s words at face value. Maybe he could spend a little quality time with Amelia. Mind made up, he walked out of Petco Park. 

He left the ball of guilt behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably could have picked a better time to be writing something angsty, but I'd rather focus on fictional drama than real-world drama at this point. So, thanks for this prompt and enabling my escapism :)
> 
> Also, I actually titled this one! Maybe I'll keep doing it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, my [ask box](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask) or the comment section is open to prompts!


	6. it's always a risk (to speak to the press)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandy/Sevensmommy on ao3 left this prompt: Can you please write one where Ginny and Mike tell Amelia off? Like maybe Bawson are dating and Amelia tries to break them up at some thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Amelia POV, future fic, sequel to [half of what you see and none of what you hear](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8381320)
> 
> chapter title: Hubert Humphrey quote, " _It's always a risk to speak to the press_ : they are likely to report what you say."

Amelia Slater was used to having to intervene in her clients’ personal lives. That was what she signed on for when she decided to become a celebrity agent, after all. 

Foolishly, she’d thought she was done with that part of her job, though. Once she took on Ginny as a client, she’d been prepared to live and breathe baseball, if only it would help the pitcher get ahead. Amelia couldn't care less about the game, but she would learn its ins and outs if it meant giving Ginny Baker a shot at the big time. She'd thought the world was on the same page. Talk about the barrier-breaking accomplishments of this young woman, not worry about whether or not she had a boyfriend. 

Of course, that was putting far too much faith in the mainstream media. 

As soon as ESPN figured out how to talk about a female athlete in a sport otherwise filled with men, the rest of the world decided it was open season on Ginny Baker’s love life. 

That first season, between navigating endorsement deals and burnout and the steep learning curve, Amelia had let a lot of questions about Ginny’s relationship status pass without comment. Without even a "No comment." She’d told Eliot to ignore everything on twitter and instagram in favor of buckling down and getting Ginny through her first year. 

But after the Davis pictures surfaced, Amelia had to rethink her strategies. 

People needed to see that Ginny Baker was just a young woman. A talented, driven young woman, yes, but still just a regular person. A person whose privacy had been utterly invaded and shattered by the release of those photographs and who, despite it all, wasn’t giving up on romance.

So, if Amelia stopped responding, “No comment,” to every question about Ginny’s personal life, it was all part of the plan. 

What that plan did not include, however, was the press settling on one romantic partner. One utterly unsuitable romantic partner. One utterly unsuitable romantic partner that Amelia Slater happened to have slept with.

Fucking Mike Lawson.

Much as Amelia tried to understand baseball, she just did not get the whole pitcher-catcher thing. Sure, there was a connection, but very few people were arguing that every other pitcher and catcher were bonded solely through romantic or sexual tension. That was just Ginny and Mike.

What Amelia did understand, however, was the way Mike and Ginny looked at each other. 

Frankly, it was a miracle that it took so long for anyone to put two and two together and start printing rumors about illicit romances between Padres 43 and 36.

But then, Mike announced his retirement and Amelia could have wilted in relief. When it became clear Ginny performed just as well with another catcher, the rumors would die down and Amelia would get what she wanted. A client rolling in adulation who deserved every scrap and speck of it.

Needless to say, she did not expect her job to get more complex after Mike Lawson retired and left the Padres. 

But, no. They had to go and actually start dating. 

Well, that’s what years of planning and cultivating relationships with everyone who was anyone in the entertainment and news industries were for. If Amelia couldn’t wield her impressive social and professional clout in order to keep nosy reporters out of her client’s private life, then what was she good for?

Of course, her job would be much easier if Mike and Ginny could just fucking chill. 

Did Ginny not realize just how much work went into keeping her and Lawson under wraps? She owed favors to people she wished she'd never even heard of. Since neither Ginny nor Mike had ever made an official statement about their relationship status, Amelia figured that’s what they wanted. 

Looking at the way Mike’s arm curled around Ginny’s waist on the step and repeat, though, Amelia had to start reconsidering her assumptions. 

Lit up by dozens of flashbulbs, Ginny Baker looked totally at ease. Amelia wanted to think that at least some of the media training she’d given the pitcher was responsible. She wanted to think that, but knew better. 

Mike Lawson leaned in and murmured something in Ginny’s ear, prompting a bright peal of laughter. The flashes and calls of their names intensified and Amelia suddenly wished she drank on the job.

“So, Slater,” smarmed one of the milling reporters. Amelia was pretty sure he worked for  _HuffPo_ , so he definitely hadn’t earned the whole slimy journalist schtick. “You finally gonna let the cat out of the bag on Lawson and Baker? We’d love an exclusive.”

She didn’t even glance his way as she delivered her standard reply. “My client and Mike Lawson have been friends for years. If you would like to reduce the first woman to play in Major League Baseball to her relationships with men, that’s your problem, not mine. Unless you’d like to discuss Ginny’s work with Make-A-Wish, don’t waste my time.”

With that, she went to pull Ginny for some schmoozing. That was her intention, at least. It was the whole point of Ginny attending this particular fundraiser.

However, it was kind of difficult to effectively schmooze when she had a hulking, bearded shadow hounding her every step. 

This had to stop. 

“Can I steal you away for a minute?” she asked, smiling benignly and ignoring the suspicion in Mike Lawson’s eyes. 

Eyes which darted to Ginny and waited for her slight nod before agreeing. Amelia would have rolled her eyes, but she was more than aware of the dozens of photographers still loitering among the guests. She kept the bland smile plastered on her face even as she sunk her nails into the silky fabric of Lawson’s suit jacket and marched him away. 

“What the hell are you doing, Lawson?” she hissed over the high top table, eyes scouring the nearby vicinity for eavesdropping piranhas desperate for a scoop. 

He took a sip from his glass of whiskey. “I’m talking to you, Slater,” he replied dryly. 

How did she ever sleep with this man? “What you need to be doing is giving Ginny some space.”

“Like an entire ballroom?” he asked, eyeing Ginny all the way across the room.

“For starters.”

“Is this a weird, delayed jealousy thing?”

Amelia stared at Mike Lawson, willing her jaw not to fall open in stunned disbelief. She stared so long that he started to fidget uncomfortably. Good. She narrowed her eyes and leaned across the high top table. “Listen to me, Mike Lawson. I don’t care where you’re putting your dick, as long as you don’t end up hurting that woman over there.” She didn’t bother pointing, didn’t really want to draw attention to their tête-à-tête. “Because whatever happens between you two, I’m going to be there to clean up the pieces. And if you keep hovering around her all night, there will be pieces to clean up. If you think any of those reporters are going to focus on Ginny’s philanthropy when you can’t keep your hands off her, then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Mike squinted at her inscrutably through her tirade, but when his gaze darted back to the woman in question, worry bled through. He nodded sharply and headed off to the bar. 

After that, Amelia lost track of him. She was too busy making sure Ginny circulated and fielding real questions from the press pool. 

To her annoyance, Mike’s sudden withdrawal from Ginny’s side prompted its own flurry of questions. 

“Mike Lawson and my client have been friends for many years. I didn’t think it was news that men and women are, in fact, capable of being friends. How’s that for a quote?” she snapped after the fifth straight demand for comment on Ginny and Mike. 

“Amelia?”

There was the woman of the hour, looking as good at thirty as she had at twenty-three. Amelia really knew how to pick ‘em. 

Ginny smiled thinly at the the reporter, but turned back to her agent, jerking her head in a silent request. 

Amelia didn’t bother excusing herself and followed Ginny through the crowded room to a semi-secluded corner. 

“What are you doing?”

Amelia rocked back at the reversal, though she kept the smile plastered on her face. Ginny didn’t bother with the nicety, staring down her agent with a furrowed brow and frown. 

“I’m managing the press, G.”

“By telling them that Mike and I are just friends?”

“I’ve got to tell them something. They keep asking whether or not—”

“We’re dating.” 

“Yes, that’s the rumor I’m trying to discredit.”

“No, we’re actually a couple, Amelia.”

This was how Ginny wants to break that bit of news? Amelia sighed. “I know, Ginny. You two are not exactly subtle. I just didn’t think you wanted to open up your personal life to invasive questions.”

“When hasn’t my personal life been open to invasive questions?”

“Point taken,” Amelia conceded.

“So,” Ginny scratched behind her ear and Amelia just barely managed to keep herself from warning her to watch her delicate hairstyle. She looked a little sheepish, which mollified the blonde at least a little. “You knew about me and Mike?”

“Yeah, G. How else do you think it stayed out of the tabloids?”

Ginny squinted in a look so reminiscent of Mike that Amelia wondered at her own success in keeping this situation under wraps. 

“Are you telling me that you’re responsible for the media friendzoning my own boyfriend?”

The pure indignation fueling Ginny’s question sent Amelia into a fit of laughter. Distantly, she was aware that several reporters were eyeing her suspiciously. She could feel Ginny’s concern and would even put money on Mike Lawson hovering somewhere on the periphery. None of that mattered. Not while gales of giggles rushed out of her helplessly. 

“Amelia? Are you all right?” Ginny tentatively laid a hand against Amelia’s arm, forcing her agent to suck in a steadying breath. 

“I’m fine,” she assured the uneasy ballplayer. “Just, are you really annoyed that I afforded you a bit of privacy?”

Ginny’s mouth twisted in thought. “No. It’s not that.” She sighed and slumped against the wall. Silently, Amelia joined her. “It’s still kind of hard to believe, you know? Like, I had his—”

“Rookie card. I know, Gin.”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” she chuckled before sobering. “Just. There was all this speculation about all those other guys that I met maybe once. But with Mike, it was like nothing I did could convince anyone to see us as a couple. Sometimes it made me wonder if it was all wishful thinking.”

“Ginny,” Amelia began, firm but gentle all the same, “do you have any idea how many reporters I’ve blackballed for trying to print stories about you and Mike over the past four years? How many awful paparazzi shots I’ve had to buy? How many stupid kids with iPhones I’ve had to bribe?”

Inexplicably, Ginny started to grin. “Really?” she asked, nearly glowing. 

Amelia huffed. “Yes. You happen to be a pretty hot commodity, G. Even with a bearded shadow,” she added, having finally caught sight of Mike Lawson lurking nearby. 

Her client just grinned fondly. “Only because my agent keeps me in demand.”

“As long as we’re in agreement.”

“Perfect,” Ginny affirmed, pushing off the wall with her eyes locked on Lawson. “Oh, and Amelia?” she asked before reentering the crowd.

“Yes?”

“You can maybe cool it with the bribery after tonight.”

“You’re the boss.”

As Lawson swooped in to sweep Ginny away, Amelia would have sworn she heard him mutter, “Damn straight,” but the two were swallowed by the crowd too quickly to be sure. Judging by the sea of flashbulbs going off in their wake, Amelia was sure the press would finally get their fill of Ginny Baker’s love interest. 

A waiter bearing a tray full of champagne flutes passed by and Amelia snagged one of the glasses and downed it in a quick gulp. She made a point not to drink on the job, but apparently, she was off the clock tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I happen to love Amelia. 
> 
> Don't happen to love what happened this morning :/
> 
> let's focus on fictional characters instead, k? I'd love some prompts to take my mind off this nonsense. here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


	7. situation: lost control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sevensmommy on ao3 asked: Can I ask for a Bawson wedding please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i know we've all been wrecked by the 1x09 promos, but i started this before the ep aired and i didn't have a chance to rework it.
> 
> chapter tags: Vegas, hangovers, terrible decisions?
> 
> chapter title: "Waking Up In Vegas" by Katy Perry

 

Ginny Baker is used to waking up after wild nights. She’s the only woman in a sea of men; she has to prove that she can hang with the boys—on the field and off—in order to be taken seriously. 

Usually those wild nights are more about appearance than follow-through. Drink enough to seem like she’s loosened up, let go of the rigid control she exerts over her body, laugh more, join in on the ribbing. It’s mostly a carefully constructed facade. After all, Ginny Baker is a brand and can’t afford to really go wild. Not in the way her teammates can. 

(Which is some serious bullshit on its own, but really, she’s got bigger fish to fry.)

Still, she drinks, she parties. She goes through all the steps to be a team player. She just doesn’t drive herself to quite the excess many of her teammates do.

Her usual morning after a night out with the boys is pretty simple: drink some water, maybe pop an Advil if necessary, go for a run to sweat out the last dregs of alcohol. Newly 26, she’s young enough to still shake off hangovers pretty easily. Not as easily as she could at 21, but at least she’s not Blip, who’s rendered completely unfunctional by three beers. He says it’s the price of fatherhood, but Ginny’s pretty sure he’s just old. But, yeah. Water, Advil, run: wild night out of her system.

This morning, though, Ginny’s pretty sure isn’t going to follow that routine.

It’s a combination of things, really.

For example: she can’t remember anything after the fifth round of celebratory Patron shots last night. Which probably explains her aching head. Both because of the wicked hangover and her attempts to recall anything beyond flashes of light and whirling laughter. There’s also the utter certainty that if she moves, she’s going to throw up. Hell, she might throw up anyway if the roiling in her gut is any indication. Ginny does her best to breathe despite the mountain of blankets doing their best to smother her. 

As she does, she catalogues. Given the red glow filtering through her eyelids, Ginny assumes the curtains are open. She keeps her eyes shut on the off chance that the sunlight might make her want to die. Moving on, Ginny feels the elastic waistband of her leggings dig into her hip: she’s not naked. The room is quiet, but that might be the muffling effect of the blankets. It doesn’t feel like the weight of another person shares the mattress. Actually, the mattress doesn’t feel like a mattress at all. 

Knowing that she’s going to regret this decision, Ginny struggles against the pile of blankets and pushes herself upright. Breathing deep to calm the rolling in her stomach, Ginny opens her eyes and, yep. There it is. Regret. 

Still, Ginny squints around and realizes she’s not, in fact, in bed. She’s on the floor of her Vegas hotel room. 

Right. Vegas. 

She should have known better. 

Except, she didn’t really have a choice. 

Winning the World Series apparently means celebrating for months on end. Celebrations which aren’t confined to San Diego. The Padres have been to New York and Miami and now, fucking Vegas.

(They hadn’t even sprung for airfare, instead piling into the Padres bus for a wild weekend on the Strip.)

In a flash, Ginny’s out of her blanket nest and bolting for the bathroom. Just in time, she heaves and she empties the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. When she’s sure that there’s nothing left, Ginny flushes and slumps against the wall. 

At least the tile feels good on her flushed skin. She runs a hand through her hair and wonders what the fuck the team got up to last night. 

She doesn’t make it far down that road, though. Never mind the fact that she can’t remember more than the lights of the strip and some terrible Elvis impersonations. She gets derailed from her dive into some truly dizzying images, coming back to reality with a sharp tug. Something on her thumb snags on a curl, the tug making her headache flare back into brilliant relief. Gingerly, unwilling to withstand another pull or its consequences, Ginny untangles what feels like a ring from her matted curls. 

 _Where the hell did I get a thumb ring?_ she thinks blearily. It feels heavy and unnecessarily bling-y and not at all like something she would willingly spend money on. _If those fuckers made me buy this—_

She doesn’t finish the thought because she manages to free herself and catches a glimpse of the item in question. Looking at the sparkling, truly ugly, platinum ring wrapped around her thumb, Ginny rolls her eyes. 

It’s their World Series ring. Not hers, though. Just the one the Padres in general had gotten. She’d been smart enough to leave hers locked up at home because what idiot brings a $30,000 ring to Vegas?

The “Lawson” staring up at her from the side of the eyesore gives her an answer, though it seemed like half the guys had been flashing theirs since acquiring them. 

Ginny snorts and then has to wait for the wave of nausea to subside. It figures that she’d end up with Mike Lawson’s ring. For a man who’d been on the hunt for one for nearly 20 years, he’s remarkably cavalier about the thing now that he has it. Ginny couldn’t count the number of times she’d found the stupid thing lying around: at Blip’s house, on bar tops, in the Green Room of the Tonight Show. (”It’s a ring, Baker. What matters is that we won.”) She’d probably taken it to keep him from trading it in for chips at the casino. 

That mystery solved, Ginny shimmies herself up the wall. When she’s upright, she’s glad for the support. She’s still disconcertingly bleary and while the bathroom is well-appointed, it’s also all modern right angles, glass, and hard tile. If she fell, she’d either end up dying or with some injury she’d never manage to hide. She’d never hear the end of it. Ginny can already see the pile of Life Alerts she’d get from the assholes she calls teammates. There would be so many “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” jokes to wade through. 

And Ginny’s not sure that she can deal with that on top of this monster hangover. 

She waits until she’s certain her world won’t start spinning again before pushing away from the wall. 

Dropping the ring on the counter, Ginny strips and steps into the intimidatingly modern shower. Maybe if she washes off the smell of last night’s sweat and booze, she’ll feel more like an actual human being. At the very least, she’ll smell more like one. 

She’s in the midst of working conditioner into her tangled curls so she’ll have a hope of getting a comb through them when an extra noise filters into her awareness. While the dual-headed shower is pretty fucking cool, Ginny’s fairly sure they’re not responsible for the sound of a steady stream hitting water. 

No, that familiar sound is definitely being produced by something, _someone_ , else.

Slowly, dreading what she might find and wishing the hotel had just put in a regular shower curtain rather than this glass enclosure, Ginny turns. 

And there’s the broad, familiar back of her (former) captain. Even if she didn’t recognize him, she’d know the worn in flannel hugging his shoulders. It’s practically part of his offseason uniform. Ginny would be surprised if he’d taken it off since the end of October, and she’s seen him pretty often in the intervening weeks. 

But there he is. Standing in front of the toilet as if it’s perfectly normal to pee while the bathroom is otherwise occupied. 

“What the fuck?” she shrieks, completely and utterly bewildered by this turn of events. The echo pierces her ears and sends a wave of pain clanging through her brain. Through the pain, Ginny struggles to figure out what is happening. Where did he come from? Did she just leave her hotel room door propped open or had he been in her room all morning? If so, how hadn’t her weird Lawson-Sense gone crazy? Was her hangover messing with her mind that much?

Mike flinches but keeps peeing if the sound is any indication. “Easy!” he groans. 

“Get out!” Ginny tries again. 

“I’m mid-stream here, Baker.” Well, at least he knows it’s her. Though why he wouldn’t leave remains a mystery, bladder control notwithstanding.

“Well, I’m _naked_ ,” she hisses. 

Ginny can see the moment the entirety of the situation settles into Mike’s brain. His shoulders tense and his head jerks before he goes completely still. At least he had the sense to keep himself from turning around to verify her claim. She’s not at all confident in the ability of the fog clinging to the shower doors to preserve her modesty. 

(It’s cold comfort. Ginny feels her body thrum at his very proximity. Usually, it’s easy to ignore the ache in her chest and belly when he’s near. It’s much harder when she’s naked and he’s so close. 

But he’s retired and he hasn’t said _anything_. She’s chalked the feelings up to wishful thinking and an overblown crush.

Only, this doesn’t feel like any crush she’s ever had. Not even the one she nurtured on him when she was still in high school.)

Finally, Mike’s bladder empties. Ginny has to wait an interminable few moments while he puts himself away. She tries not to think about it. The toilet flushes and Ginny wants to sag in relief.

However, rather than walking out of the bathroom, Mike stands there for a moment. “I don’t know which way to turn,” he confesses to the framed picture on the wall. 

“Whichever way gets you out faster!”

That seems to get him moving. He turns towards the sink, away from the shower, and Ginny watches him go. Thankfully, he keeps his eyes down. Well, mostly. As he walks by the mirror, Ginny catches the way his eyes flicker to the reflection, just for a moment. There’s nothing to see, the surface too fogged to do more than show a few, indistinct streaks and blobs. Before she can make anything of it, he’s out the door and she has the bathroom to herself again. 

 

* * *

 

Mike isn’t sure what he should be doing. Probably not sitting on a mostly bare mattress in what is, apparently, _not_ his own hotel room. If he were a little less hungover, he probably would have realized that bit of information sometime between waking up and staggering into the bathroom. But really, it’s not his fault that all hotel rooms are identical and that Baker is the kind of neat freak who puts everything away in the dresser, even when she’s only staying a few days. It’s not as if there are a lot of clues to go off of. 

The only one he can think of is the smell of her goddamn perfume hanging in the air. When he’d woken up and smelled it, though, it hadn’t been so strange. It feels like he’s been haunted by that scent since she first started wearing it last season. He smells it everywhere he goes, even when Baker’s not around.

Jesus. Finally getting up close and personal with a naked Ginny Baker had not gone how he’d expected. 

And he’d built up _a lot_ of expectations about that particular moment. Not that he’d told her. 

He’d just retired for God’s sake! He’ll get around to it. 

He pushes himself off the bed and starts pacing. It’s murder on his headache, but he might actually crawl out of his skin if he sits still too much longer. 

When the bathroom door snicks open, Mike whirls and ignores the way the room whirls for a minute, too. The only stationary spot is Ginny Baker, which has to be some kind of divine joke. Of course she’s the one stable thing in his life. 

She’s swamped in the complimentary hotel robe, looking beautiful if deeply disgruntled by his presence. 

“What the hell, man?” 

Mike scrubs a hand through his beard. “You have as many answers as I do, rook.”

“Yeah, except you still thought it was a good idea to barge in while I was in the shower!”

Honestly, Mike hadn’t even noticed that the shower was on. He was too focused on the overwhelming need to empty his fucking bladder. And when she’d called him out, he hadn’t even questioned why Ginny would be in his bathroom, just accepted it and kept pissing. 

He really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s not like I was trying to sneak a peek. I just had to pee.”

She regards him for a minute, gaze assessing like she’s trying to read a batter. Finally, she snorts. “If you say so.”

What he should say is nothing. What he does say is, “If I wanted to see you naked, I wouldn’t do it on the sly.”

Her eyes narrow. “You talk a big game, old man.”

“And the moves to prove it,” he returns because apparently his grave just isn’t deep enough. “Moves which don’t include sneaking up on a woman just to ogle her.”

And, okay. Yeah. He had tried to sneak a peek at Ginny in the shower. Well, her reflection in the mirror as he beat a hasty retreat, but close enough. He’ll blame it on this murder of a hangover if he’s ever confronted on the matter. It’s not like he saw anything. Just the suggestion of bare skin and wet hair. 

Still, under ordinary circumstances, Mike Lawson would never stoop to invading a woman’s privacy for an eyeful. It was the hangover.

Before she can say anything else, her room phone starts to ring. Leveling him with one last suspicious look, Ginny picks it up, listens for a moment, and hangs up with a soft, “Thank you.”

“Team bus is leaving in half an hour,” she tells him. “Want me to call and have them send someone up to let you back in your room?”

The intuitive leap makes sense. Why else would he have spent the night in Ginny Baker’s room?

Mike agrees, even though he’s sure he put his room key in his wallet and can still feel the lump of leather resting in the pocket of his jeans. Anything that will get him and his big, fat mouth out of this situation as quickly as possible is a good thing. 

(If, when he finally steps into his own shower, he has to rub one out because the idea of wet, naked Ginny is stuck in his brain, well. It wouldn’t be the first time.)

He does manage to clear out his room, which hardly looks as if it’s been occupied, let alone slept in, and make it down to the lobby on time. Mostly on time. Okay, he’s ten minutes late, but that’s early in his books.

And, as a reward for his timeliness, Ginny Baker is waiting for him at the front desk. 

He slings an arm around her as soon as he draws even, but doesn’t slow down, relies on the fact that she’ll catch up. 

“Missed me, Baker?” he teases, squinting behind his sunglasses as they burst into the Las Vegas sun. 

Ginny doesn’t duck away from his heavy arm, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself without you.”

They approach the bus, idling on the curb, hand off their bags, and climb aboard. 

Only to be greeted by utter mayhem. 

As soon as he turns into the aisle, the entire bus just _erupts_  in noise. When Ginny pokes her head around his shoulder, the chaos somehow increases. There’re hoots and cheers, and for some reason, the sound of tinkling bells. Someone’s hijacked the sound system and Bruno Mars comes spilling out. 

“ _It’s a beautiful night. We’re lookin’ for somethin’ dumb to do.”_

Then, a bunch of grown-ass men are crooning along: “ _Hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you!”_

Mike cranes around to share a commiserating look with Ginny. He has no idea what the guys got into last night, but he’s glad he wasn’t part of it. 

Ginny, though, is staring past him, a look of dawning horror spreading across her face.

Mike turns to look and understanding starts unfolding for him, too. 

There, draped across the two seats that he and Ginny have claimed so often on road trips, is a silk banner proclaiming: “Just Married!” Rose petals cover the cushions and someone’s even tied a string of tin cans to the armrest. They really went all out on this bit.

Mike stares. And stares. He stares long enough that most of the bus quiets down. “Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” he rumbles threateningly.

Before anyone can respond, the bus driver climbs in and warns them to take their seats. 

Because the only empty row left is the one that’s apparently been decorated for them, Mike deigns to sit there. He scowls as his ass hitting the seat sends up a cloud of rose perfume. Ginny hovers in the aisle for a moment before dropping in next to him. 

She fidgets, glancing around, trying to get someone to meet her eye. No one does, so she tugs at her bottom lip the way she does when she’s thinking.

“Spit it out.”

“Did we really—”

An iPad, thrust between the headrests of their seats, interrupts her. Ginny takes the thing while Mike shifts around to glare at Salvamini, who just shrugs with a stupid, little smirk. 

When he settles back in, he turns his attention to the tablet in Ginny’s hands. She’s already started a video, a frown forcing furrows into her brow. 

Mike doesn’t see why and tells himself he’s not being deliberately dense. It’s just a sweeping shot of all the guys. The fact that they’re all seated on these tiny little couches, all facing the same way, is pretty weird, but probably not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen the team do. They’re joking and shoving at each other, pointing to something behind the camera. 

The shot pans back around and, yep. There he is, standing up with Ginny Baker, a chubby Elvis standing between them. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Elvis is saying. “You may kiss the bride.” 

Ginny’s eyes slide shut in denial of the evidence even as hazy memories of last night start to filter into Mike’s brain. 

It happens in a flash, so he watches the end of the ceremony play out on the screen as snatches of memory line up with the image.

He’s turned, pointing into the hooting audience, a finger jabbed at someone in particular. Mike’s got a vague recollection of Sonny jeering something inappropriate, earning himself a glare. But Ginny either doesn’t notice or care because she trips forward, flinging a long, powerful arm around his neck and smacking her lips into his bearded cheek. The feel of her lips suddenly burns back to life beneath his beard. Mike watches himself jerk back in surprise, turn his face down to look at her. She just grins and he’s sure that every one of her dimples is on display. He can’t tell with the grainy footage. What he can see, however, is the adoring way the Mike on the screen is looking at Ginny. The soft, tender look on his face is pretty fucking embarrassing, but only insofar as it’s the way he always feels on display for all those animals to see. 

Mike tunes out the cheers and hollering of the crowd, jabbing a finger at the screen to pause the video. The image that’s left, Ginny laughing and practically in his arms as he grins, only twists the knife. Hurriedly, he locks the tablet, though watching the screen go dark isn’t as comforting as he hoped.

“Oh, shit,” Ginny breathes, eyes still closed. 

He nods his agreement even though she can’t see. 

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Has Amelia called?” he asks in response.

“What? No? I don’t think so.” She fishes her phone out and shows him her lack of missed calls. 

“Good. That means these dummies haven’t put this”—he waves the tablet—”online. Also means the press hasn’t picked up the story yet, either. Means we’ve got a little time to figure this out”

Ginny considers him shrewdly for a moment. “Have a lot of experience in this sort of thing?”

“Do you know how many times Stubbs has gotten hitched in Vegas?” he asks dryly. “Three. Three separate times. If he figured out how to get ‘em annulled, I’m sure we can manage. After all, I’ve already got a divorce lawyer. Of course, if you promise not to take me for all I’m worth, I’ll consider leaving him out of it.”

Ginny laughs at that, just as he’d intended her to. She giggles for a few moments and Mike feels a good deal of his tension leak out of him. “Deal. Oh!” She leans into him to reach into her back pocket. If Mike was expecting anything to come out of that pocket, it definitely wasn’t his World Series ring. “I had this when I woke up and forgot to give it back.”

“Giving back your wedding ring already?” drawls a voice from across the aisle. “Man, Lawson, you must’ve really messed up.”

Mike leans forward to see Blip sprawled across his two seats, studying him and Ginny with a knowing smirk. 

“Wedding ring?” 

“What, you don’t remember? You refused to buy one from the chapel, saying you already had the perfect ring. Never mind the fact that the thing fell off about five times during the ceremony.”

“You have got chubby fingers, old man,” Ginny teases him, offering up the ring. 

Mike grumbles, but plucks the stupid thing out of her own, gracefully slender, fingers. He manages to bite down on any retort, not sure that he could keep it family friendly and pique their resident Sherlock’s interest. Blip is too canny for his own good. Mike’s not about to give the man more ammo. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Ginny’s brow furrows. “... Okay, then. I’m gonna see if anyone’s hoarding snacks. Want me to bring you anything?”

Frankly, the idea of eating anything in a moving vehicle while dealing with a hangover sounds like a terrible idea, though Mike’s not about to tell her that. He just shakes his head and waits for her to hone in on her target. Once he’s sure she’s occupied, he leans across the aisle and socks Blip in the arm. Hard.

“What the hell?” the outfielder squawks, rubbing his bicep.

“You let us get married? In Vegas?” Mike hisses.

“Don’t knock the Little White Chapel, man. It was a lovely ceremony. I’m the one who convinced you to spring for Elvis,” Blip sniffs. 

Mike’s eyes narrow. “You seem to have an awfully good memory of last night.”

“Someone had to make sure these clowns didn’t walk into traffic and you were otherwise indisposed.”

“Oh, so you can keep the team alive and together enough to attend a wedding, but you can’t keep me from marrying Baker?”

Blip levels Mike with a look and he wants to shove the words back in his mouth. Rather than give into the embarrassment, he glares even harder, refusing to admit to his slip. Blip’s eyes narrow and the gears turn in his mind. Finally, he asks, “Do you really think you’re married, Mike?”

What? 

“What?” 

“Seriously?” Blip rolls his eyes. “You’re not married.”

Mike knows he should be relieved at this news, but he just feels confused and a little adrift. “What?” he asks again, trying to find his footing.

“You, Mike Lawson, are not now, nor have you ever been, married to Ginny Baker.” 

“But the video—”

“You paid the guy at the Little White Chapel like $500 to perform a ceremony. Honestly, I don’t know why. I was not there for that particular decision. I did arrive on the scene fast enough to make sure there wouldn’t be a real wedding.”

“What?” Mike’s starting to feel like a broken record, so he tacks on, “How?”

“You think your drunk asses were that worried about getting a marriage license first? No, you weren’t, and I made sure you stayed that way. Had to pay the guy an extra $100 just to keep him from mentioning it. Which was worth it because Evelyn would have divorced me if I let Ginny get married without her.”

And, okay. That’s a pretty good reason to keep Mike from marrying Ginny. Evelyn Sanders can be terrifying when she puts her mind to it. Of course, that’s only added to the more obvious reason that Mike and Ginny don’t really want to be married to each other in the first place. Which is 100% true, Mike tries to convince himself. 

His disposition only perks up when the woman in question drops back into her seat, arms laden with Clif Bars and a bottle of Naked she’d conned someone out of. Probably Robles. The man still couldn’t find his tongue around her. 

Mike restrains himself from whirling around and glaring, but it’s a close call. He forces himself to focus on his not-wife and how she thinks she is. His wife, that is. Across the aisle, Blip snorts and pulls out an eye mask to get some shut-eye and wash his hands of this situation. It’s at least a little comforting that Blip thinks he can handle this. After all, Mike’s a 36-year-old man. He should be able to handle telling someone they’re not married. 

 _Should_ being the operative word.

He opens his mouth, manages to get out her name, but freezes when she looks up at him, cheeks stuffed comically full with her granola bar. 

“Wha’?” she asks, crumbs spilling past her lips. 

It’s a sign of how deep Mike is in this thing that the sight only prompts a rush of affection. “I changed my mind. Hand one of those over,” he demands, gesturing at one of her stash. When she looks like she wants to protest, he adds, “What’s yours is mine, after all.”

She complies with a roll of her eyes. “How did I think, even drunk, that it would be a good idea to marry you?” she complains, biting off another chunk of her bar. 

He gulps. This would be the perfect time to say, “Actually, you know what? We’re not married. Hilarious, right?”

Because he’s a terrible person, he doesn’t say that. He does say, “Too bad. You’re stuck with me, Baker. At least ‘til we get back to San Diego.”

Yeah, when this is all said and done, Mike’s definitely going to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, has anyone seen a world series ring? they're awful! Ginny might be one of the few women to find the gesture romantic, though. 
> 
> i did manage to shoehorn my favorite standup line ever. shoutout to mike birbiglia, who i love and hope never sees this.
> 
> also, i really need to work on my ginny pov. If anyone has any prompts that'd help me with that, I'd really appreciate it! Leave 'em here or in my [inbox](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	8. years have gone so fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: You know I really love it if we could get cuddly Ginny in fic form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: kangaroo court, cuddly!ginny, jealous!mike
> 
> chapter title: "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day

Ginny’d always been a physical person, which was handy as a professional athlete. It wasn’t just that her body was her finely honed machine, though. She learned best by doing; getting her hands dirty and figuring something out for herself. More than that, she liked concrete proof, liked being able to hold something and know that it was real. Sometimes it helped, when she was having a panic attack, to be able to ground herself in the moment through her sense of touch.

That’s what her therapist told her, anyway. 

But, yeah. Ginny Baker was a kinetic learner if ever there was one. (She remembered her fourth grade teacher telling this to her parents during conferences with an air of chagrined desperation.)

Ginny still didn’t see the problem. Why sit still and do nothing when she could be up and active? If that meant she was in constant motion, her hands skimming across every new surface, she could live with that. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the energy for it. 

Mostly, though, that boundless energy was reserved for her surroundings. Things. Not people.

With her, casual affection was reserved for the people who really deserved it: Will, Evelyn, Blip, the twins. Cara when they actually has a chance to see each other. Amelia when she wasn’t all wound up in the Ginny Baker Brand™. They all deserved her love and affection, and it wasn’t like Ginny had issues with personal space. Growing up constantly surrounded by boys and then men, with their oblivious sprawl, cured her of any tendency towards squeamishness pretty quickly. 

And, okay, sometimes, if he’d made her a really good smoothie, Eliot got a quick side hug, too. Also, approximately every little kid who’d ever asked her for a hug to go along with her autograph. They made the cut. 

What? She wasn’t a _monster_.

Sure. Maybe her threshold for affection was pretty low, but it wasn’t like she was some overly-emotional drama queen, making everyone uncomfortable. Which was more than she could say for some of her teammates. 

Which was why it was such a shock when she was cited in kangaroo court for PDS. Public Displays of Snuggling.

“PDS?” she protested. “That’s not even a thing!”

“It’s a thing if the court says it’s a thing, Baker,” Lawson barked, pointing his gavel at her. 

“It’s so not a thing! I bet no one else has ever been charged with this bullshit!”

Blip, who was struggling to hide his grin, jotted something down on his notepad. “That’s twenty bucks for swearing, Gin.”

She sneered, but nodded her acceptance. Of the swearing fine. She was not going down without a fight on this PDS thing. “I want specifics,” Ginny demanded, folding her arms across her chest stubbornly. If they wanted to accuse her of inappropriate cuddling or whatever, she was sure at least five other Padres were guilty of the same thing and intended to point out the ridiculous double standard. In this case, Ginny was not above dragging the whole team down with her. 

“What now?” Lawson asked, looking entirely unamused. Ginny thought back to her first kangaroo court, how he’d exploded as she kept pushing. Well, if he wanted to throw a hissy fit, he could go ahead. She wasn’t going to stand on ceremony and let these assholes cheat her out of more money.

“I want the evidence against me,” she declared. “And, I want to know my accuser.”

Around her, Ginny could hear the murmurings of 22 grown men start up. At the judge’s table, Blip leaned in and whispered to an impassive Mike Lawson. She wasn’t sure how she could tell underneath the bulk of his beard, but his jaw was clenched. Finally, he nodded and banged his gavel. 

“All cases are submitted anonymously. Unless your accuser wants to come forward, you’re SOL on that front.” Blip nodded along with Mike’s words, but his eyes did narrow on the slip of paper bearing Ginny’s case. She didn’t get a chance to think about it as Mike continued, “As for evidence, who’s got pictures of Baker sleeping on their phones?”

When at least ten guys raised their hands, Ginny registered her displeasure. 

“What the ever-loving”—at Blip’s pointed cough, she veered back into acceptable language, wrinkling her nose as she did—”heck? Delete them! Now!”

“That’s your evidence, 43,” Mike observed blandly. When Ginny whirled on him, ready to tear him a new one, he tapped the gavel, cutting her off. “Now, who would like to share with the court?”

Eventually, Sonny handed over his phone, open to one of the pictures in question. 

There on the screen was sleeping Ginny leaning up against a snoring Al on the team bus.

Honestly, it was pretty cute. Ginny could see why he’d take a picture. 

Cute but hardly snuggling. 

“Seriously?” She shot Sonny an incredulous look and he shrugged apologetically. “Is this all you have?”

Oh, how she wished she hadn’t asked that.

Quickly, it became clear that, no, that was not all they had. Phone after phone got passed to her, displaying picture after picture of her asleep and practically molesting whoever was sitting closest to her. For the first time in her professional life, Ginny cursed her ability to fall asleep anywhere. Bus and plane rides were the most common, but there were a few in the clubhouse and the dugout. There was even one of her passed out, her head cushioned on Butch’s leg at some club in Atlanta Ginny vaguely recalled visiting at the tail end of a 17-day road trip. 

Location wasn’t the only variable, she was mortified to see. It seemed like everyone was fair game. Duarte and Salvamini, Hill and Robles, who could’ve passed for a tomato in the shot of her clinging to his arm, her face practically plastered into his neck. (It wasn’t her fault those bus seats were cramped!) Most often, though, her victim was Blip, if only because she sat next to him pretty often on the road. 

One Padre, though, was suspiciously absent. Suspicious because Ginny sat next to him more than anyone else and had ever since her first road trip with the team. In a few pictures, he showed up somewhere in the background, his face pointedly turned away from the spectacle of a cuddly Ginny Baker.

Ginny understood the inclination. It was deeply embarrassing and she’d been asleep for all of this. 

Which. 

“So what?” she asked, handing back Butch’s phone and trying to act like the slew of pictures didn’t matter. “You really gonna fine me for something I did when I was asleep? When I literally couldn’t control myself?”

Mike’s—Lawson’s, her _captain’s_ —mouth twisted and Ginny was pretty sure she won. A certainty that was rewarded when he said, “No.” Before she could crow out her victory, he continued, “But I’m pretty sure that’s not the only evidence against you.”

“Oh, really? Enlighten me,” Ginny challenged, leaning back into her chair. She knew she was supposed to just take the hit and pay up. After all, the money would end up in the booze fund for the end of season party. If it had been any other charge, she probably would’ve. However, this felt too much like something that they could call her out on because she was a woman. It didn’t feel fair. 

When silence reigned, Ginny started to feel vindicated. Once she started looking around at her teammates, though, and saw how many refused to make eye contact, that vindication turned to lead, sinking faster than she could track. 

Turning back to Lawson, she knew his triumphant grin was bad news. Still, she didn’t fold. Forced herself to listen as her teammates threw her under the bus. 

First, there was the time she huddled against Javanes in the bullpen in Minnesota when they played an interleague series there. (”It was freezing!”) Several other Padres chimed in similar stories, some from seasons ago, leaving her scowling. Blip, the traitor, chipped in a story about her using him as her personal backrest, which was again seconded by at least three others. (What was she supposed to do, lean on her pitching arm and tire herself out?) Someone ribbed Hanan, the left fielder, about the time he’d offered her a piggyback ride and she’d then refused to get down, basically turning into a koala bear to make him carry her around for the rest of the day. (Which, how could any of them blame her? Hanan was a solid 6′5″, It wasn’t as if Ginny was ever going to get another chance to be that tall again.) Finally, the nail in her coffin, there was the time she made Besner sit right next to her to go over batting footage, even though every seat in the clubhouse was occupied. Rather than finding somewhere less crowded to work, she’d pushed him into an armchair and perched on the arm. Things would have been fine if she hadn’t practically fallen into his lap in her excitement at spotting a potential weakness in one of the Marlins batters. She sunk herself even further by the fact that she hadn’t gotten up until after they’d gone through every available second of video on the guy. But, really, it wasn’t like Besner had complained. Ginny remembered the way he leaned over her shoulder, as eager as she was to pin down that vulnerability. 

Throwing her hands up in disgust, Ginny burst out, “Fine! Fine! I’m guilty or whatever. I’ll pay up.”

When Lawson tapped his gavel to signal his acceptance of her plea, he looked far too smug for his own good. Ginny narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything, unwilling to contribute even more money to the pot for speaking out of turn. Instead, she slumped back in her seat and mulled.

In all honesty, it wasn’t the kind of problem that required much mulling. Not when she had all the evidence before her.

When the game actually got called because of the rain, most of the team was stunned. This was San Diego. They didn’t do rain outs. 

Ginny, however, used everyone’s distraction to her advantage. Most of the guys cleared out of the clubhouse fast, like they were afraid the umps might reverse their call and the game would go on unless they left immediately. Her target, however, stuck around because if he didn’t, his body would mutiny. 

She waited until he was fully seated in the ice tub to stroll into the PT suite and slump into one of the folding chairs set up along the wall. 

“You know,” she began, drier than the Sahara, “you don’t have to bring me up on charges in kangaroo court to tell me you’re jealous.”

To his credit, Mike Lawson didn’t even bat an eye. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Baker.”

“Right. So one of the guys decided to suddenly be upset about having to cuddle with me? In spite of the fact that I’ve apparently been doing it since my first season?”

“Yep,” he agreed, shifting in the icy water and shivering pitifully. Even freezing his balls off, he could muster enough attitude to put any teenager in America to shame. “’Cause I didn’t make the complaint. ‘Cause I’m not jealous.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. Pushing herself to her feet, she advanced on the tub, hovering just beyond his reach. “So, if I said Sonny makes an excellent human pillow, what’d you say?”

He shrugged, all studied nonchalance. “I’d say that if you wanna cuddle up to someone with a wife and kid, you couldn’t pick better than Evers.”

“Uh huh. And if I told you Livan is the perfect size for spooning, you’d—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish because Mike surged out of the water, dripping ice chunks and indignation in equal measure. His hand flashed out and snagged her wrist, reeling her in. Ginny’s shins bumped up against the high metal sides of the tub, but she didn’t look down. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

Really. Why the man had to take his ice baths completely naked, she’d never understand. 

“Don’t play around with me on this, Ginny,” he practically growled. 

Ginny shivered. Whether it was from the low rumble that had just reverberated through her—that’s how close they were—or the steady chill rolling off the ice, she was disinclined to speculate. 

Gingerly, she extracted her wrist from his grasp and pushed down on his shoulder until he sank back into the tub. “I thought you weren’t jealous,” she drawled. 

He glowered up at her, unwilling to admit that she had a point. 

She sighed. “You know I’m not fucking any of them, right? I don’t want to fuck any of them, either. That’s reserved for—”

Mike cut her off with a defeated, “I know.”

And he did. Because he, Mike Lawson, was the source of Ginny’s complex knot of romantic feelings. 

(Ginny guessed—hoped—she fulfilled a similar office for him.)

But, since his trade to Chicago fell through at the end of her first season, just after they’d come to some sort of understanding, they’d both agreed to take a step back. It wasn’t worth the potential black mark on her career, much as Ginny had often tried to convince herself otherwise. 

So, they existed in this hellish limbo, where they both knew exactly who and what they wanted but also knew they weren’t allowed to want those things. It was agony. Mostly, Ginny tried not to think about it when she was in the Park or in uniform. Compartmentalization. 

Days like today, though, made that pretty hard. Hard enough that she slipped and dragged the whole sordid mess into the light.

Ginny retreated to the row of cabinets where the trainers kept their KT tape and resistance bands. It was far enough away that she felt like she could breathe again. Far enough away that she wasn’t tempted to peer inside the tub, around the bits of melting ice.

“Would it be so bad?” Mike’s voice cut through the fog of her regrets. She zeroed in on him, though he didn’t look at her. He addressed his knees, “Would it be so bad if we…?”

She couldn’t respond, floundered for something to say. “Mike—”

“I’m on my way out. I was lucky to make it to this season. But, Christ, Ginny. Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe it wasn’t even worth it, not if I’ve made myself this fucking miserable. We’re not even gonna clinch the division.”

“Don’t say that,” she scolded. True, they were still two games behind the Giants, but there was time to make that up. The other stuff, she couldn’t begin to address. 

Mike—and when did she start calling him that? In the clubhouse, he was Lawson. Always. It cut down on complications—huffed a laugh and when he tipped his face towards her, there was genuine amusement in his eyes. “Right, don’t wanna jinx it,” he teased. 

She smiled, hope blooming. Maybe everything between them, in spite of everything between them, would work out all right. They’d make it into post-season for the first time in more than a decade and then do what no other Padres team has done. Win the World Series. 

And after? Well, Ginny had been looking forward to the after.

But Mike’s teasing smile turned thoughtful and Ginny’s stomach started twisting itself up in knots. 

“Ginny, I— I don’t want to pretend anymore. We’re making ourselves miserable here, aren’t we?” he asked, having no right to look so earnest while huddled in a pool of ice water. “Is this worth a slim chance at a stupid piece of jewelry and a trophy we’ll see for maybe an hour?”

It felt like he wanted to put the cart before the horse. Like he wanted throw in the towel on the postseason hunt. Like he wanted to give up on everything he’d worked for. 

And that was unacceptable. That was what she had problems with.

Not the other stuff, the stuff about _feelings_. Feelings for her. Like she was the reason he wanted to give in. That was… fine. It was fine.

It didn’t feel fine. It felt like the room was closing in on her. She needed to get out before the panic really set in.

“I— I need to go.”

“Ginny!” he called after her, though she didn’t listen as she beat a hasty retreat. Didn’t listen, but still heard the pain in his voice. 

She didn’t make it far. Ginny holed up in her little closet, unwilling to try and make it back to her place in this state of mind. She wasn’t sure she could hold it together if someone saw her and inevitably asked what was wrong. 

So, she sat in the cramped space, trying to work through the anxiety rather than give into it. She wasn’t confident it would work this time. After an hour, though, breathing calmed and thoughts in some semblance of order, a knock came. Thinking it was the cleaning staff, Ginny called, “Just a sec!” and grabbed her bag to clear out. 

When she opened the door, it was definitely not the cleaners. Mike, thankfully fully clothed, stood in the hallway, looking determined but guarded. He didn’t try to come in and Ginny didn’t offer. She stood there, her hand still clutching the door handle, and stared. In spite of the scant few feet between them, Ginny was pretty sure the Grand Canyon wouldn’t feel wider. 

“We gonna talk about this?” he asked simply.

“This is terrifying,” she blurted, clutching the door like it was her saving grace. Mike didn’t say anything, just regarded her across the empty space between them. “I’m good at one thing. Baseball. I can’t not care about it the way you—”

“I care,” he protested, frowning. 

“What, so you haven’t given up on making it to the postseason?” Ginny challenged.

“That’s just probability. We’re still in it for the Wild Card.”

“I know that! I wasn’t sure that you did.”

“I’ve been in this closer to 20 years than 10. I know all about the playoff hunt,” he huffed, finally looking just annoyed rather than annoyed _and_ wounded.

“Then why would you say—”

“Because that’s the way I feel!” he spat, finally letting some of his anger bubble to the surface. Perversely, it put Ginny at ease. She could deal with Mike Lawson’s anger, had been for the past three years. “Eighteen years in this game and I’ve never once made it past the Division Series. It’d be great to make it all the way to game seven of the World Series, but it’s not necessary! You. Ginny, you’re what I—”

“Mike, please—”

“No, let me say this.” He waited until she nodded, giving him the go ahead. “I want you, Ginny. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t anymore. That doesn’t mean I’m hanging up my glove right now, but I’m not willing to give up my best shot at happiness when I do.” Mike advanced on her, gently pulling the door from her grasp to push it closed. Her dressing room had never felt this small, but she didn’t think she’d ever shared it with Mike Lawson behind a closed door.

She swallowed. “As much as I want you, Mike—and I do—I _need_ you out on the field. I’m not ready to give you up as my catcher.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I’m still in this, but I want more than the game,” he repeated. His expression softened, turned less fierce and Ginny’s knees wanted to give way. He took another step toward her and grasped her elbow to pull her closer. Ginny went. She laid her head right against his shoulder, ear pressed to the skin above his heart. It beat a steady, comforting tattoo. 

“We can’t ruin this,” she murmured. 

“We won’t,” Mike soothed, his hand rubbing comforting arcs up and down her back.

Ginny tilted her face up to him. He was already looking back. “Promise?” she breathed, completely aware of how close they were. How much she was going to hate it if she had to pull away and add this moment to her file of “Never Happened - Mike Lawson.”

“I promise,” he swore, looking as serious as she’d ever seen him. 

Her eyes flickered to his lips and she nodded. Tentatively, she leaned up, sighing as his lips fit perfectly against hers. How had she gone so long without doing this? Gentle and apologetic, Ginny leaned into Mike. They pulled away without trying to deepen the kiss, content with what they had. 

For now. 

“I know you want more than the game. So do I,” Ginny admitted to Mike’s collar, voicing the thought for the first time to someone who wasn’t paid to listen to her. “But, can you wait? Just until we’re out of the postseason? I want to do this right.”

He studied her for a long moment. Ginny held her breath, hoping this wouldn’t be the straw to break the camel’s back, the thing that made him wash his hands of her. Finally he nodded, accepting her decision. “As long as you promise you won’t run on me again.”

“I’m not the one who tried to get traded to avoid this.”

Thankfully, he chuckled. “Fair point. Until October” His arms tightened around her one last time before dropping. 

Ginny didn’t step away, tried to soak in all the warmth he had to offer before she going back to pretending. It was nice to know that there was a definite expiration date on that pretending, though. Something to look forward even if the postseason didn’t go their way. 

Mike chuckled again. “You know, this is exactly why you got written up in court.”

“This is the opposite of why I got written up,” she returned, peering at him in disbelief.

“Uh, no. You can’t keep your hands to yourself, that was the whole problem.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, finally pulling her arms away from where they’d somehow ended up wrapped around his waist. “You wrote me up because you were jealous I was cuddling up to everyone who wasn’t you. Not that I was doing it on purpose.” 

Which was mostly true. Ginny honestly hadn’t noticed how casually she’d been acting with the Padres. They were like 23 extra brothers. It wasn’t weird to share casual affection with her brother. What was weird was sharing casual affection with her captain, who most certainly was not like a brother. Ginny was pretty sure that when it came to Mike Lawson, she wasn’t capable of casual. 

Mike, at least, didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah, you caught me,” he grumbled. “Do you know hard it is to watch you wrap yourself around one of those clowns and then be expected to not brain them with my bat?”

“I do not wrap myself around anyone!” she protested, shoving at his chest. 

He caught her hands and trapped them against his solid pecs, grinning down at her. “Hate to disagree, but you definitely do. Last week you practically mauled Stubbs for bringing you breakfast.”

Ginny thought back to the bear hug she’d given the left fielder for saving her one of the fancy avocado and egg white croissant sandwiches. She couldn’t blame herself—the sandwich was just that good—but would concede the point. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Mike laughed, looking remarkably relaxed for a man discussing the cuddling habits of the woman he lo— _liked._  Wanted. Whatever. He scrutinized her and tilted his head. “Did you really not know you do this?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I knew I wasn’t shy or anything, but I hadn’t really thought about the specifics.”

“Yeah, it definitely doesn’t matter _who_  you’re mauling,” he muttered, fingers flexing around hers before releasing them. Her hands tingled with their sudden freedom, but she wanted the heat of him surrounding her, in some small way, again. 

“I’ll try to pay more attention,” she offered.

“Nah, I was being petty.”

“You? Petty? Never.”

“Hilarious. You missed your calling as a stand-up. Now, can we please get out of here and enjoy the day off?”

Ginny gathered up her backpack and followed him out the door. In the clubhouse proper, he swung an arm around her shoulders. She did her best not to nuzzle into his side the way she wanted, but couldn’t keep herself from leaning into his heat. It felt natural, right in a way that their teammates couldn’t begin to compete with. 

As they twined through the cavernous halls below Petco Park, Ginny let herself imagine what it would be like. Getting to cozy right up to Mike whenever she felt like it. Tucking herself into his side to watch TV. Falling asleep with his solid bulk right beside her. Kissing him as more than a silent apology. 

When they finally made it to the parking garage, though, Mike retracted his arm and the fantasy fell to pieces. They stood before each other, nothing more than pitcher and catcher, or doing their best to pretend. 

Before he went,  Mike leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek. When he pulled back, there was promise in his eyes. Not just for what would come after, but for a good fight to earn it. 

Then, he was gone, packed into his car to drive away to his cold, lonely house. 

Ginny breathed deep and tried to tell herself this loneliness was temporary. She would get that warmth again. 

She could do this. She had to do this. 

Just until October.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway, this was supposed to be cute and fluffy, but apparently my brain didn't want to do that.
> 
> i should probably work on that, right? leave me some prompts and i'll do my best :) here or in my [inbox](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)


	9. right between the ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sevensmommy prompted: How about a one shot where Ginny tells Mike of for not telling her about Amelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: post-Wear It, apologies
> 
> chapter title: "Liar, Liar" by A Fine Frenzy

Ginny sat in her little cubicle and for once was glad of the separation. The privacy. If she had to sit out in the clubhouse with the guys, joking and teasing and probably talking about that stupid slam dunk, pretending that everything was fine, she didn’t know what she would do. 

Good thing Petco didn’t have a pool.

Restlessly, Ginny locked and unlocked her phone, dismissing the deluge of missed calls and texts. She’d go through them after the game and check in where she hadn’t already. For now, though, she had to get her head on straight, which would be something of a struggle considering the knots she’d wound herself into talking to the shrink. 

In twenty minutes, she’d have to be dressed and on the field to shag balls for batting practice, but the idea of being around people before then made her twitch.  

Spinning idly back and forth in her chair, Ginny felt exhausted. As exhausted as she’d been after that first, disastrous game. It wasn’t physical, in spite of the wild ride of last night and her scant few hours of sleep in Cara’s car. No, this was a purely emotional thing. She felt wrung out and spread thin in a way that she usually did her best to avoid. No one wanted a pitcher who was too tied up in her own head to read what was going on in a batter’s. All she knew was that it was a good thing she’d decided to have her melt down _after_  a start and not before one. If she’d been expected to play today, she was pretty sure whatever she managed to throw would get her sent unceremoniously back to the minors. 

And she’d deserve it.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny tried to calm herself. She just needed to get through a couple hours: warmups and then park her ass in the dugout. After, she’d be free to go back to her hotel room and hole up until they had to hit the road in a few days. 

No one to talk to, no one to smile for, no one to disappoint. 

If she could get through this game with minimal conversation, then all the better. 

Of course, that fantasy was shattered by a knock on her door.

“Yeah?” she called out, not bothering to straighten from her slump. It was probably just Al or Blip, checking in.

What she didn’t expect was a sheepish Mike Lawson to push open her door. 

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. He looked tired. More tired than usual, when it was just his knees and back bothering him. Something else had happened, and Ginny hated that she knew that.

He flicked his gaze to the empty chair next to hers, a silent question. She shrugged. There’d already been a few emotional discussions today, what was one more?

With a soft groan, he sank down. Rather than say anything, though, he just frowned and rubbed at his knees. 

Ginny sighed. Apparently this was up to her, too. “What d’you want, Lawson?”

He turned his attention on her, eyes narrowed. “Can’t a man come sit with his rookie?” he asked, clearly aiming for casual and missing the mark. He tried to grin, but Ginny didn’t feel like making him feel better. Her own face remained stubbornly drawn.

“Not lately.”

It was his turn to sigh. “I said I was sorry, rook.”

“Yeah, for throwing my panic attacks—which you shouldn’t’ve even known about—in my face in the middle of a game,” she threw back. If she weren’t quite so tired, she’d probably be leaning forward, getting in his face. As it was, Ginny didn’t move from her slump.

Mike squinted at her as if this was just another visit to the mound and he was trying to figure out why she wouldn’t go along with his calls. Ginny wanted to laugh, but knew the sound would come out sharp and bitter. She didn’t want any more worried concern today, so that laugh would just have to take up space in her chest. 

“I am sorry,” he finally said, head tilted slightly to the side as he took her in. 

Ginny didn’t snort. If only because snorting would have been more evidence that she wasn’t enough of a grown up to handle the truth. Still, she stared at him, what was hopefully a supremely unimpressed look on her face. He was going to need to be more specific.

He leveled her with an exasperated expression as the silence drew itself out. She just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, prompting a disbelieving huff of laughter. He scrubbed at his beard before leaning his elbows on his abused knees. 

Looking straight into her eyes, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Amelia. She and I decided it would be easier if we didn’t tell anyone while things were casual. It wasn’t anyone’s business what we were doing in private. Not even yours, Baker. And then, there just wasn’t a good time to tell you, not without—”

“Looking like you’d been lying to me?”

Mike just looked at her and Ginny sighed for what felt like the millionth time today. 

It sounded so reasonable when he put it that way. Partially because she wasn’t hearing this information for the first time, the way she had with Amelia. Ginny could consider everything more objectively, without feeling like her breath had just been punched from her chest. Of course it wasn’t her business. Even if Amelia and Mike were arguably two of the most important people in her life. Even if they only met because of her. Even if they’d spent most of the summer sleeping together and carefully not letting her know. Because it wasn’t her business.

It felt like her business. Especially with the revelation that these two people, the people that she shared most of her life with, had been lying to her.

Lies of omission were as bad as straight deception. At least, they felt as bad.

And. Ginny wasn’t naïve enough to think that this Mike-and-Amelia thing hadn’t been a factor in her decision to go rogue last night. Yes, it was mostly about feeling like her life was spiraling out of her control, but her captain and her agent hadn’t helped matters. Honestly, the fact that they’d kept their relationship or whatever from her was just more evidence that her life wasn’t her own. If it were, they wouldn’t have worried so much and just told her. Ripped off the bandaid. But no, couldn’t risk the miraculous Ginny Baker malfunctioning.

Ginny drew a deep breath and tried to exhale some of her anger. Mike just watched her steadily, apparently waiting for something else from her.

Wasn’t everyone?

“I don’t need you to protect me.” Mike looked skeptical but didn’t say anything. Smart. Ginny pressed on, “That’s what I pay Amelia and my security detail for. I need to be able to trust you if we’re going to work on the field. That means you can’t lie to me to avoid an uncomfortable situation.” 

She didn’t add that if he’d wanted to avoid an uncomfortable situation, he could’ve picked someone to sleep with who wasn’t her agent.

“I’m your captain, Baker. It’s my job to protect you, too.”

She waved him off. “Yeah, on the field. When an ump’s strike zone is the size of a stamp. When some hot-head’s gunning for me. You protect me ‘cause I’m your teammate and your pitcher, not because you think I’m too fragile for the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice level and serious, gaze unwavering.

“You should’ve told me about you and Amelia.”

“I know.”

“Don’t lie to me again, Lawson.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled, but stuck out a hand like they were sealing a deal. 

Ginny shook.

Something cleared from her captain’s face and this time when he grinned, it looked closer to a smile than a grimace.

“Now, you gonna stop screening my calls?” Ginny rolled her eyes and sent her chair’s seat spinning away from him. Mike just laughed. “’Cause, really. I had some pointers for your dunking technique, but I’ll give ‘em to you now if you’re not gonna pick up later.”

“Oh, _you’re_ going to give me tips?” she teased. “I’m not wasting my minutes on that, so lay ‘em on me, old man.”

This time, when she smiled, it was because she wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other people have written the knock down, drag out fights between these two and I could never do better. so have this sad, tired confrontation and be happy that they're in a better place now. 
> 
> if you'd like to leave a prompt of your own, drop it in a comment or in my [inbox](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)! You're all wonderful!


	10. i guess it's just as well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSYriver prompted: Could you do a Rachel watching Lawson and Baker together and realizing hes in love with Ginny and over her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Rachel POV, angst, future fic, Ginny x Noah, pining!Mike
> 
> chapter title: "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart

Rachel Patrick leaned heavily on her fiancé’s arm and wished that she’d taken him up on his offer of a drink. She was relatively sure that she’d feel better about this if there were some alcohol running through her veins. At the same time, she was loath to let him leave her in the middle of an MLB-sponsored party. 

An MLB-sponsored party practically in honor of her ex-husband. 

Well, her ex-husband’s team. Because, miracle of miracles, the San Diego Padres had managed to clinch the division title, even if they went down to the Wild Card in the first round of the playoffs. While it was certainly cause for celebration, Rachel just wished she didn’t have to be involved. 

Such was the life of a sports reporter. 

Anxiety coiled in her stomach. She hadn’t told David that she and Mike had considered reconciling, when the time was right. Right now, surrounded by colleagues and professional athletes, was definitely not the time.

As far as she knew, Mike still insisted he wanted her back. It would be just like him to try and press his case at the worst possible time. 

If the actual News Director, her boss’ boss’ boss, hadn’t told her to be here, Rachel could have spent a relaxing evening at home with her fiancé. Not worrying about whether or not her ex-husband was going to make a scene. 

David rubbed her arm, picking up on her worry and doing his best to make her feel better without prying. Rachel sent him a grateful smile and brushed a kiss against his cheek before turning back to the crowd.

Her breath caught in her throat, because there,at first glance looking better than she’d seen in years, was Mike Lawson. It was easy to forget how well he cleaned up when so much of his time was spent in work out gear or jeans and ratty flannels. Even easier now that he’d trimmed back the beast he called facial hair. He leaned against a high top littered with empty glasses, a point of stillness in the swirling crowd.

The look on his face, though. That was all too familiar. 

It was the look he leveled on her too often during their divorce proceedings, wounded and raw. Heart-broken and not willing to hide it. For as big of a man as Mike Lawson was, he did a remarkable impression of a kicked puppy. 

Rachel’s heart thumped in sympathy even as something niggled at the back of her brain.

Something was different. 

All at once, it hit her. That wounded, injured expression wasn’t pointed her way. The realization thrummed painfully behind her sternum. For all she knew, Mike didn’t even realize she was in the room. He only had eyes for one person. 

Tracing the trajectory of her ex’s gaze, Rachel Patrick was knocked for her second loop of the night. Standing in the circle of a handsome stranger’s arm was Ginny Baker. 

Her date—her boyfriend, even, with the way he was looking at her—leaned down to murmur something in her ear. From across the room, Rachel watched as Ginny’s nose crinkled and her mouth twisted in a grin. Despite the hubbub of the party and the press of people, she imagined that she could still make out the delighted gush of laughter. 

Unconsciously, her eyes darted back to Mike. Her heart throbbed in sympathy again at the thunderstruck, lost look on her ex’s face. 

“Go talk to him, love,” urged a voice in her ear.

Her head snapped up to David, who just looked as calmly encouraging as ever. “I can’t,” she protested.

“You can,” he replied. “Someone should before he does something stupid. And this is a rather larger venue to cause a scene than a simple dinner party.”

He had a point. Dropping a kiss on the corner of his mouth, Rachel unwound her arm from his and struck across the room to take up a post at Mike Lawson’s side. 

“Rachel. You look lovely,” he greeted, not bothering to take his eyes off his teammate and her date.

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased, not really believing that anything she could say would make him stop.

“Well, it’s been nice,” he drawled, tone clearly indicating the opposite, “but shouldn’t you be getting back to Dave?”

She rolled her eyes. Good to know some things didn’t change. “I’m sorry, have I interrupted your busy evening of trying to set fire to Ginny Baker’s date with the power of your mind?”

That, at least got a reaction. Nothing extreme, just a measured shift in his attention away from the pitcher and towards his ex-wife. Rachel could see how much it pained him to look away from Ginny, almost like he thought she’d disappear if he weren’t careful. At least he has the decency not to deny anything, just regarded Rachel warily. 

“So, why do we hate him?” Rachel asked, knowing the answer and still hoping for a different one.

“What? I don’t _hate_ him,” he protested. Rachel hummed, unconvinced, and Mike deflated a little. “He’s not good enough for her.” 

“Let’s ignore that she is the only person who gets to decide that,” she said pointedly, earning a grunt from Mike. “She’s a 23-year-old, barrier-breaking professional athlete who’ll probably be earning more money than the Queen of England before she’s 25. There isn’t a person alive who’s good enough for her.”

Mike huffed a laugh at that and pushed one of his two glasses of whiskey her way. He clinked the one he kept to hers and knocked back a slug. “Here’s to that.”

Because those three words were loaded down with more self-awareness than Rachel had heard from him in their nearly ten years of marriage, she didn’t say anything else.

“Isn’t Dave looking for you?” he asked testily after the silence lapsed a bit too long.

“David’s the one who sent me over here. He was worried you’d cause a scene.”

Mike snorted and drained his glass. “What, is the man applying for sainthood?”

It was as close to a compliment as she was going to get, so Rachel let it slide. Mostly. 

“Can I assume that you’ve figured out what you want, then?”

Mike sighed. He eyed the glass he’d passed her regretfully, so Rachel pushed it back. Immediately, the whiskey was gone, defying every rule of tasting he’d once tried to teach her. He leaned heavily on the table, but didn’t answer. 

“Mike,” she began, unsure of what to say. “This doesn’t look like you figuring yourself out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” he muttered bitterly. “I’ve still got a job, sure, but I'm way past my prime, battling my body for a few more good years. Nothing to occupy my time off the field but a few car dealerships, which, thanks for that, by the way. And I can’t manage to convince the woman I want to want me back.”

In the past, that would be where Rachel let him down easy, saying he didn’t want her, not really. But this time, Mike definitely wasn’t talking about her. His eyes were still trained on Ginny Baker, sipping champagne and leaning on the arm of her date. That realization she’d made earlier in the night, the one wedged somewhere between her lungs and sternum, grew tight and painful.

Part of her wanted to feel vindicated. Mike really did want what he couldn’t have. And, of course, he had to go and pick the one person who was absolutely off limits.

But. 

For better or worse, Rachel knew this man like the back of her own hand. This wasn’t Mike working his way through a silly infatuation, a crush. This was Mike crushed. This was Mike leaning on the kitchen island they used to share, telling her he still loved her. Telling her that and knowing it wouldn’t end well. This was Mike Lawson already defeated.

Knowing that nothing she could do would help, not really, Rachel laid a hand against one of his, white-knuckled and wrapped around the edge of the table, and gave him her best empathetic smile. He grimaced back at her, but she’d known better than to expect anything particularly heartwarming. 

A voice interrupted their silent exchange. 

“Hey, captain.”

Rachel looked up and there was Ginny Baker, her date hovering at her side with an easy smile. Ginny, though, looked anything but at ease. She seemed positively on edge, defensive even. Her eyes darted between Rachel and Mike uncertainly before finally settling on her captain, a silent question in the slope of her brow and the set of her lips. 

Rachel would have laughed at the guard dog routine if Mike’s body language didn’t shift so dramatically as soon as he clocked the pitcher’s presence. The hand under hers relaxed and his shoulders straightened as he came out of his hunch. His customary smirk spread across his face like it had been there all night. 

Hmm. No more melodramatic brooding, apparently. 

“Baker,” he greeted almost lazily. It was only because she’d been married to the man for ten years that Rachel could see the strain around his eyes. “I know you’ve met Rachel Patrick, but, Rachel, this is Noel.”

“It’s Noah, actually,” Ginny’s date corrected, reaching forward to shake Rachel’s hand. 

Rachel flicked a look at Mike—some things definitely didn’t change—but smiled at the man. “You’ll have to forgive him. He can be terrible with names.”

“I’d noticed,” Noah replied dryly. 

Mike didn’t even have the decency to to look chagrined. He just shrugged and sipped at his drink. Or tried to. He looked down at his empty glass as if it had betrayed him. For her part, Ginny didn’t even seem to notice the exchange, her gaze pinned on the table as she frowned. 

Rachel looked down and couldn’t see what would bother the other woman so much, aside from a worrying number of empty lowballs, until Mike’s fingers twitched beneath hers. Ah. 

As naturally as possible, she gave his hand one last squeeze before withdrawing. Rachel hardly had to look to know that Ginny’s eyes tracked the movement before flicking up to Mike, concern and maybe something more written plainly across her face. Rachel also didn’t have to look to know that Mike, wrapped up in internal melodramatic brooding, missed the entire moment.

“So,” Rachel said, unwilling to let the silence lapse into awkwardness, “are you two having a nice night?”

Noah stepped closer to Ginny, slinging an arm around her waist. He smiled down at her and Ginny grinned back. As soon as his attention was back on Rachel, telling her all about the video game contracts he’d discussed with some MLB bigwigs, though, Ginny was back to evaluating Mike worriedly. Like she thought Rachel might have left him with puncture wounds or something. Any other woman would have worried about what kind of stories her ex was telling about her, but Rachel knew better. This was just Ginny Baker trying to look out for her friend and captain. 

And if there was a certain amount of disappointment in her gaze, well Rachel was all too familiar with that feeling. 

She rubbed absently at her sternum as Noah rattled on. 

Meanwhile, Mike finally realized that Ginny was worried about him and they were locked in their own silent debate. Ginny’s eyes would flick to Rachel and she’d frown. Mike would frown back and jerk his head towards the crowd. Ginny would shake her head and purse her lips, prompting an eye roll from Mike which would set Ginny to grinning. But then, she’d lean into Noah and Mike would grimace and the whole thing would start all over again.

It was fascinating. If Rachel had her journalist cap on, she’d be asking a million questions, trying to pick apart what made their dynamic flow so easily. As it was, she was stuck firmly in ex-wife mode and did her best to keep Noah distracted while the pantomime played out beside them. 

Eventually, things must have come to a head because Mike forced a smile and said, “Oh, look, rookie. There’s Blip and Evelyn. I think they were looking for you earlier.”

Noah, back to being an attentive date, looked down at Ginny. “Shall we?”

Ginny looked like she wanted to argue, but Mike took a pointed sip of his new whiskey, opportunely supplied by a passing waiter, and started scanning the crowd as if he’d already forgotten about her. Rachel only caught the flicker of hurt because she was looking for it, but the pitcher smiled up at her boyfriend readily enough and the pair departed.

Once they were out of earshot, Mike heaved a sigh and let his shoulders slump again. Without thinking, Rachel patted his shoulder and caught Ginny Baker looking back out of the corner of her eye. The crowd shifted, and before Rachel could turn for a better look, the other woman was gone.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I survived you, didn’t I?” he replied dryly. 

Somehow, to the annoyance of that lump behind her sternum, Rachel was sure that this was not the same at all.

Still, at that same moment, Rachel caught sight of David weaving through the crowd toward her. The pain in her chest faded and she smiled at the sight of her fiancé. Before he could whisk her away, she turned to say, “You were wrong, you know.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Rachel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she tracked down Ginny in the crowd and waited until she was sure Mike was looking, too. “About her wanting you. You don’t have to convince her.”

“Rach,” he sighed, not bothering to dispute the particulars, “she’s got a boyfriend.”

“You and I both know that sometimes that doesn’t matter,” she said with a sad, apologetic smile. 

Mike frowned and Rachel knew she’d misspoken. Of course Mike wouldn’t ask Ginny to do what Rachel had done to him. He wouldn’t dream of it. That didn’t mean she was wrong, though. The heart wants what the heart wants, even if that was cold comfort for the one left behind. 

He must have read some of the regret in her face because he sighed and nodded.

As David drew up to the table, Rachel leaned in and dropped a final kiss on Mike’s cheek. “You deserve to be happy, Mike,” she murmured, placing her hand in David’s. “Don’t ever think you don’t.”

Knowing better than to expect a reply, she let David lead her off into the crowd. Still, she couldn’t help but look back once more, just like Ginny. Mike wasn’t staring after her as she’d expected at the beginning of the night. Instead, his focus was trained elsewhere. She didn’t bother to check, knew that Ginny Baker would be square in his sights. 

“Are you finished, or do you need to stay?” David asked.

Turning back to him, Rachel smiled and waited for the lump in her chest to fade into a dull ache. It didn’t take long. “No,” she replied, settling into his side, “I think I’m done here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, personally, don't mind Rachel as a character/roadblock. Obviously she's something of a problem, but I do think she's got an interesting dynamic with Mike. She has to. They were married.
> 
> Anyway, this was a fun experiment, so thanks for the prompt!
> 
> What d'you think? Was I too kind to Rachel? Not angsty enough? Let me know! Or leave a prompt. As per usual, here or on [tumblr](http://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


	11. i'll hold you (in a cold place)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [sarahreesmd](http://sarahreesmd.tumblr.com) prompted: I was hoping that eventually you could write a continuation to this [[years have gone so fast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018)] when the season finishes and they finally get together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: fluff, cuddly!ginny, future fic
> 
> chapter title: "Wake Me Up" by Ed Sheeran

Later, Ginny would be able to give exact answers about how it felt to be the first woman to play in a World Series. Later, she’d be able to put the complicated rush of emotions into words. Later, she’d go back and untangle every play, every look on every batter’s face as she sent them back to the dugout. Later, she’d realize that she earned the save in Game Seven. Later, it would hit that she, Ginny Baker, clinched the first World Series win for the San Diego Padres.

But that was later. 

For now, she was covered in champagne bubbles and her teammates and glory. She was exhausted. There’d been cameras in her face for the past three hours, ever since Mike’s walk off homer. Ginny knew she’d given soundbites, but couldn’t remember any of what she’d said. 

At last, the clubbies were finally ushering the last stragglers from the press pool out of the clubhouse. The league bigwigs had already gone, leaving two trophies in their place, but the press always wanted more. Ginny sagged against the nearest warm body at the sight of their backs. That body happened to be Salvamini, who grinned down at her and wrapped a sturdy arm around her shoulders. When she showed no indication of giving him up as a leaning post, he just laughed and pushed her towards her little closet. As she went, she bumped shoulders with Livan and Sonny, hip checked Stubbs, and practically collapsed into Blip’s arms. He squeezed her hard, swinging her around until she laughed breathlessly in his ear. When she had her feet under her again, socks squelching unpleasantly with champagne and beer, Blip grinned and ambled off to the showers.

Nose wrinkling at the smell of sweat and dirt mingling with flat beer and champagne, Ginny resolved to do the same. 

But first. 

She shuffled into the PT suite and would swear that her mouth went dry. Because there, huddled in what was possibly the last ice bath of his career, was Mike Lawson. He looked as tired as she felt, but when he opened his eyes and looked at her, a spark passed between them and a fire kindled in her belly. An empty furnace finally set to flame.

“Hey,” she murmured, suddenly aware of the rasp in her throat, no doubt put there by three hard hours of celebration. Now, it was time for something quieter. 

Better, too.

“Hey,” he replied, and just that one word had Ginny grinning like a schoolgirl. 

Ginny fought the urge to dig a toe into the floor. She felt shy and exposed for all that she wasn’t the one naked and sitting in a bucket of ice water. “We’re out of the postseason,” she observed.

“We are,” he replied, a slow smile sneaking its way across his face. Mike leaned back in the tub, positively lounging even as goosebumps covered his skin. One beefy arm rested on the rim and Ginny was so tired, she just watched the interplay of muscle for a long moment. Didn’t stop herself the way she usually did when she got distracted by Mike. His shoulders, his hands, his ass, his smile. This was the clubhouse and some things, some thoughts, didn’t have any place here. 

But they were out of the postseason. 

Still, she swallowed and tried to get a hold of herself. It was hard—and her brain just blew right past that one—with Mike wet and naked not even five feet away. 

She managed, “So, um. Are we—? Am I—”

“Yeah,” he replied, shifting a little and his smug grin turning soft. “At least I thought, so. Unless you don’t—”

“I do.”

“Okay.” They stared at each other for another beat until Mike shivered and grimaced. “I’ve got a few more minutes in here and then I should probably shower, but if you’ll wait...”

“I should hit the showers, too,” she replied as her sopping ponytail dripped more alcohol down her back. From now on, the smell of beer and champagne would smell like victory. A shower wouldn’t change that. “See you in a bit?”

“It’s a plan.”

Maybe this exhaustion was a good thing. That, or winning the World Series suddenly gave her magical powers. It didn’t seem so far-fetched after the Cinderella story she'd just lived through. Either way, Ginny blinked and suddenly she was in her street clothes, freshly showered, and no longer smelling like the floor of a bar. SShe’d abandoned her uniform and the ski goggles that’d been shoved on her head in her locker, packed up her essentials, and made her way to the main clubhouse. 

She lingered in front of Mike’s cubby, wondering what it would be like to walk in that first day he wasn’t there. Her heart throbbed, eyes flaring hot and achy, and Ginny had to turn away. She blinked, telling herself that it wouldn’t matter, not if things turned out the way she hoped. 

Without knowing why, aside from the feeling that maybe there was something magic about tonight, Ginny looked up and met Mike’s eyes. He looked back at her, strong, but not stoic. He looked tired and vindicated and ready. 

What a coincidence. Ginny was ready, too. 

Together, they stepped out of the clubhouse. Together, they walked to Mike’s car. Together, they drove to his too-empty house. Together, they made their way inside. 

Mike paused and Ginny read the silent question as easily as if he’d signaled it from behind the plate. _Kitchen or bedroom?_  

Ginny was sure she’d wake up ravenous, but the thought of not falling into bed with Mike Lawson in the immediate future was too painful to consider. She nodded up the stairs and he smiled his agreement. 

Soon, they stood facing each other at the foot of his bed, bathed in moonlight. 

“C’mere,” he urged after a moment, fingers curling delicately around her wrist and encouraging her closer.

Ginny went, free hand sliding up his chest and neck, holding him steady. When her lips connected with his, she practically melted against him. He dropped her wrist to skim his hands over her waist, making sure they were as close as possible. Her own hands slid into the short hair at the nape of his neck, combing through the still slightly damp strands. 

This didn’t feel like a second kiss. This felt like they’d been doing it forever and had no intention of stopping. Like they couldn’t imagine stopping. Which was maybe only right.

She sighed into his mouth, embarrassment flashing through her as the sigh turned into a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Tired, rookie?” he laughed, eyes impossibly fond.

“I haven’t been a rookie for two years,” Ginny retorted, not bothering to dispute the other part. She was tired, and Mike was warm and solid and if he wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep leaning up against him. 

“Yeah, yeah. And I’ve just gotten older, is that what you’re saying?” His hands ran soothing circles up and down her back, distracting Ginny from answering. She just hummed out her contentment, pressing her lips to the thin fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “How about we pick this up in the morning and we get you into bed before you keel over?”

Ginny nodded, the adrenaline and dopamine rush of finally kissing Mike again flushed out of her system.

Unthinkingly, she toed off her tennis shoes and then peeled off her leggings and shrugged out of the thermal zip up she’d worn out of the Park. All she could think of was curling up next to Mike in his inviting bed. Once she was down to her underwear, Ginny’s brain caught up with her body. Was this really the way she first undressed for Mike Lawson? Shy and a little embarrassed, she muttered, “Can I have a shirt or something?”

Mike’s eyes traced over her body, dark and hungry, but he still disappeared for a moment and came back holding a bundle of fabric. He’d stripped down to just his boxers and Ginny regretted missing the show. Well, there was always next time. Shaking out the offered clothing, Ginny was greeted by his name and number. She’d have to give him shit for that. _Territorial asshole_ , she thought fondly.

But later.

Now, Mike was turning down the covers and the sheets and Ginny was crawling into his bed. Funny. It felt so much like hers once she laid her head on the pillow. Mike slid in behind her, groaning a little as he settled against the mattress. Ginny waited until he was settled to inch closer. She ducked under his arm and settled her head against his chest, her own arm banding across his stomach. One leg hitched over his, the other stretching out alongside. The fire she’d kept banked in her chest came to life, rushing through every part of her that touched a part of him. Soon, she was warm through.

“Is this okay?” 

Mike squeezed her and breathed a kiss against her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt was perfect because I was really struggling with anything even approaching plain fluff. I like tripping myself up too much :/ But, I actually really like the way this one turned out, so thank you!
> 
> If you'd care to leave your own prompt or just some general bawson feels, the comments and my [inbox](http://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com) are always open! :)


	12. if i hadn't blown the whole thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emeli_Thorne prompted: Could you write something along the lines of idk Ginny getting jealous bcs of some woman Mike's been seen around with a lot lately, and the guys are maybe pestering him about it but Ginny's just a simmering mess until she blows up and maybe confronts him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: angst, jealous!ginny
> 
> chapter title: "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms

“Why’re we even watching this?” Ginny grumbled into her tablet full of stats and intel on the Mets. She flicked a disdainful glance at the clubhouse TVs, all of which were tuned to Access Hollywood for some reason. 

Sonny raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t have money in the Lawson pool?”

Ginny grimaced. No, she did not have any money on who Mike would get papped with next. In fact, she’d done her level best to forget anything even adjacent to Mike Lawson and his rotating corps of arm candy. Mostly because she was still pretty mad that he’d nearly kiss her—but just because he was leaving!— find out he had to stay, and then never mention that night again. Not even after months had gone by. Or because it was weird to make bets about your teammate’s romantic lives. 

Yeah, if anyone asked, it was definitely the second one. 

“I’ve got ten bucks that he snags a date with Jennifer Garner by the end of the month,” Salvamini confessed, plopping down onto the couch next to Ginny. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. 

“No way, man!” Butch said. “She’s too good for him.”

“Dude, they’re all too good for him.” That was Sonny, with an air of superiority. No one argued.

This was what she got for going over batters in the main room and not on a bike like usual. She wished she could go grab her headphones without making it into a Thing™. Ginny was no longer a rookie, but she wasn’t exempt from all the locker room banter and teasing. She already got enough shit for not being _social_ , preferring to hole up and work over gossiping with a bunch of over-testosteroned dudes.

Don’t get her wrong, she loved them, but they were overbearing at the best of times. 

And betting on which starlet Mike Lawson was taking out next? Not the best of times. 

“Still can’t believe he bagged a date with Miss California. Have you seen her?” sighed Stubbs, a starry-eyed look in his eyes.

“Yeah, but I still don’t think he actually took Heidi Klum out for coffee.”

“Nah, but you saw the pictures of him and Gina Rodriguez, right?”

“They were at the same party! She’s got a boyfriend!”

“And yet, I still won the pool.”

Hard as Ginny tried to concentrate on her upcoming outing against the Mets, she couldn’t quite tune out her teammates or Natalie Morales chirping on and on about Mike’s dating history. For God’s sake, he was a 37-year-old catcher who hadn’t seen the postseason in half a decade! No one could be that interested in the man’s love life!

Ginny sure as hell wasn’t. 

Which didn’t stop her from grinding her teeth as she listened to the guys give Entertainment Tonight and TMZ a run for their money, listing all the women who’d been seen with, or even around, Mike Lawson since the start of the season. It was only May and yet, the list was truly impressive. Ginny was pretty sure the pool had already paid out five or six times. Mostly because Stubbs read every tabloid in existence and had an unfair advantage.

Not that Ginny was paying any kind of attention. Just like the knot at the base of her neck had nothing to do with the way her shoulders were perpetually tense in the clubhouse, having to listen to the guys joke about who Mike may or may not have had in bed this week. 

And, okay. She had ears. Ginny knew exactly who the Mike was taking out, no matter how hard she tried to stay out of it. It would be one thing if this was just Manwhore-Mike 2.0, if he was just partying with groupies again. He wasn’t. He’d upgraded, started seeing women who would challenge him, make him into a better man. Women who would make him want to be a better man.

Because, apparently, Ginny wasn’t enough.

That was a secret that she buried down deep, though, hardly even admitting it to herself. She thought they’d had something, inadvisable and reckless as it would have been. 

Apparently, she’d thought wrong.

So, she gritted her teeth and kept her eyes trained on her tablet. If Mike wanted to pretend nothing happened, that they were just teammates, then fine. Ginny could do denial. That was where she lived.

“What d’you think, Ginny?”

“Huh?” Somehow, she’d managed to actually tune out all the romantic speculation. She looked around the locker room for clarification.

Blip’s brow was furrowed where he sat at his cubby, but it was Sonny who asked, “What’re the odds on Lawson scoring a date with Rihanna?”

She snorted and went back to her scouting reports. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” prodded Salvamini. Literally. He elbowed her ribs to get her attention.

Ginny shot him a sour look. 

She’d struggled not to read into it that out of the dozens of women connected to Mike Lawson in the past five months, not a single one of them looked anything like her. Which, maybe it _didn’t_ mean anything. His tastes in women had always been indiscriminate at best. And maybe it would have been worse to see another black girl with curly hair on his arm. She wouldn’t know. What she did know was that she’d probably never had a chance with him to begin with, not if these were the women he was dating now.

Rather than give voice to any of those thoughts, though, she just flicked a hand dismissively and went back to her scouting reports. “Please. She’d eat him alive.”

“Who’d eat who alive?” came a distressingly familiar voice. Ginny could feel the knot in her neck throb in dread. She’d chosen this seat on purpose. It put her back to Lawson’s cubby, kept her from sneaking peeks at him and trying to figure out what went wrong. Well, it kept her from doing it while staring him down. But having him lurking around somewhere behind her was only ratcheting up the tension in her spine. 

“Speak of the devil!” Stubbs crowed. “Lawson, you’ve gotta tell us about last night! No one’s had a good shot of her.” He gestured at the flat screens, all displaying the same grainy image of their captain with a mystery woman.

Ginny restrained herself from turning to the man of the hour, but a quick glance around the clubhouse said she was one of the few. Livan was absorbed in his phone and Blip probably was only interested in the opportunity for a few wisecracks.

Still, she heard the deliberate thud of his backpack hitting the floor and the slight groan of leather as he sank into his chair. Even over the calls for more information and teasing, Ginny could hear it. Hear him. 

Finally, he said, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, boys.”

Another snort. Rather than explain it, though, Ginny levered herself off the couch and marched over to her catcher. 

He didn’t look at her. She kicked his chair. 

When Livan finally deigned to acknowledge her, his eyes flicked first to the other catcher in the room. Ginny felt her temperature rise, but ground her teeth to keep from acting on it. The last thing she needed was to blow up in full view of the team and then have to deal with a week’s worth of comments about PMS.

“Let’s go over the Mets.”

Livan’s eyebrow arched, though his attention remained on her. “Right now?”

“If they’re all going to gossip like old women, we might as well do some work.”

She did her best not to fidget under Livan’s assessing stare. He always acted as if he knew everything, and Ginny didn’t want to find out how true that was. Eventually, he nodded and rose. He even slung an arm around her shoulder and said, “Lead the way, mami.”

As they went, the knot in Ginny’s neck tightened like it could feel the weight of the gaze aimed there. She told herself it was just Blip, keeping an eye out for her. 

She wasn’t particularly convincing.

Once they were safely secluded in the cardio suite, though, Ginny started to feel better. She and Livan hopped on adjacent bikes and started hashing out the top of the Mets lineup. He’d finally accepted that maybe _feeling_  his way through a batter wasn’t going to keep him a Padre, though the rest of the bullpen had yet to take note.

Just as she got into the swing of things, though, her neck twinged. Ginny suppressed a groan, waiting for the inevitable. 

“What’re you doing, Baker?” Mike Lawson practically growled. And, okay. That really shouldn’t have turned her insides to jelly. Not because he scared her, at least not in the way he meant to. 

“Going over the Mets lineup with my catcher,” she replied, calm as smooth water. Outwardly, at least. Inside, she was all roiling swirl.

“Out, Duarte.”

Livan leaned back on his bike, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked between Lawson’s foreboding glare and Ginny’s own set jaw. Silently, she willed him to keep his ass on the seat. His lips quirked and she cursed his stupid dimples as he lithely swung a leg off the bike and ambled out of the training room. He tipped an ironic salute to his captain as he went. 

Lawson didn’t take his eyes off Ginny. 

“ _I’m_ your catcher until I say otherwise, got it?” He stared her down hard, and, apparently thinking this was over, nodded and turned to leave.

“No.”

Lawson froze in the doorway, her refusal piercing the air between them. She didn’t know how, but Ginny stood facing his retreating back, hands clenched into fists at her sides. When had she gotten off the bike?

Slowly, he turned, his face thunderous. “No?” he growled, low and dangerous. 

“No,” she spat. “You don’t get to call yourself my catcher when you’ve barely talked to me in months. Barely put in the work.”

“I do my work, Baker,” he ground out. When his gaze connected with hers, Ginny’s breath stuttered in her chest. Her heart, too. She couldn’t remember the last time they made eye contact like this. 

“Yeah, you come to BP and you do your workouts. You show up on the field and in the box, but I haven’t been able to come to you in months.” Ginny hated how ragged she sounded, how close to tears. She lifted her chin and set her jaw in defiance. Of him or her feelings, it didn’t matter. “You’re ghosting on me.”

“What, so you turn to Duarte? Was it hard for him to give you advice with his head so far up his ass?”

Ginny just glared. There was no talking to him when he was like this. If he wanted to throw a hissy fit, then fine. She had work to do. 

She turned back to her bike, hoping a little cardio would help her temper the fire boiling her from the inside out.

Of course, Mike Lawson couldn’t leave well enough alone. 

“If this is some play to make me jealous, it’s—” Mike cut himself off, didn’t finish. Ginny heard the end anyway. 

 _Working_. 

And she saw red. 

“You think _I’m_ trying to make _you_ jealous? Because I went to the one other person who can actually help me out during a game? Help me do my fucking job?” 

Mike crossed his arms and stared her down as if she were being unreasonable. She wasn’t being unreasonable. 

Fury drove her forward, stepping into his space. It was the closest they’d been since last August, but Ginny didn’t let herself get distracted. “You wanna talk about jealousy? How the hell do you think I feel having to listen to the guys out there going on and on about whoever you’re fucking now? And if that’s not enough, it’s all anyone on TV seems to talk about, too. Mike Lawson and where he’s putting his dick tonight! Did you ever once wonder how that would make me feel?”

Ginny breathed hard but couldn’t quite bring herself to wish she’d never said anything at all. The heavy, lead lining of her stomach was gone, tossed to the ground between her and Mike. And she might as well just give in and think of him as Mike, now. Not Lawson or captain. 

Just Mike who’d steadily been breaking her heart.

She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes once he realized. So, she kept her gaze trained firmly on the floor and waited for him to leave. Everyone always left. The burning in her eyes could wait until she was alone again. No point in giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Mike shifted; she could hear the rustle of his clothes. But rather than retreat, he leaned into her space even more. Ginny watched in stunned silence as his shoes shuffled closer to hers, leaving hardly enough room to breathe. She didn’t look up, half sure she was just imagining things.

“Ginny,” he murmured and her head shot up. He hadn’t called her that since last season. She could feel tears brimming against her eyelashes, but Mike was looking at her so gently, so softly, so apologetically, she didn’t look away. He brought up a hand and, giving her plenty of time to pull away, brushed the drops away. 

A sob escaped her and Ginny collapsed against Mike’s chest. His arms wrapped around her as her shoulders hitched and shook. “I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over, his big hands running soothing circles over her back. “I thought it would be easier if we didn’t talk about it. We’re teammates. As long as things don’t change, nothing can happen.”

Ginny nodded into his chest. She understood. He was right. It probably would have been if she hadn’t let herself get caught up in her feelings. If she’d just focused on the game, she would have been fine not talking. 

She could do that.

Taking one last breath of Mike Lawson, his proximity and warmth and comfort, Ginny stepped away. She told herself she imagined the way his hands tightened against her back before falling away. It would have been impossible to go if she hadn’t.

They stared each other down, silent and serious for a moment.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” he said, concern dripping from his words. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he couldn’t decide what to do with his hands, too. Ginny bristled.

“Things haven’t changed, have they?”

He frowned. “No, but—”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” Ginny roughly wiped the last remnants of her breakdown from her cheek and stared at Mike challengingly. 

Something shuttered itself off in his face and Ginny ignored the pang echoing through her chest. “Whatever you say, Baker,” he said and turned on his heel and left. 

Ginny breathed slow and deep to push the pain away. The knot in her neck throbbed again, almost competing with the hollow ache wedged between her lungs. This was the same as pitching through a twinge in her shoulder. It had to be.

So, she got back on the bike and started going over the heat maps, silent and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm only kind of sorry. okay, i'm very sorry. i will take whatever fluff prompts you all come up with as my apology.
> 
> come cry with me on tumblr and/or twitter. I'm megaphonemonday both places.


	13. the moral comments of the neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from [mandi-boo](http://www.mandi-boo.tumblr.com): I've got two Bawson prompts for you: 1- Ginny and Mike babysitting the Sanders Twins 2- Ginny and Mike secretly married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of [chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19420252)
> 
> chapter tags: secret relationship, matchmaker!evelyn, established relationship, future fic
> 
> chapter title: Emma Goldman quote, "Rather would I have the love songs of romantic ages, rather Don Juan and Madame Venus, rather an elopement by ladder and rope on a moonlight night, followed by the father's curse, mother's moans, and _the moral comments of neighbors_ , than correctness and propriety measured by yardsticks."

They’d been back in San Diego for about 36 hours before Evelyn called. 

Mike’s phone buzzed first, which Ginny only knew because it was too far away to be hers. She grumbled as Mike took the call, his voice sleep rough and still sending shivers down her spine. Not that he needed to know that. She buried her face in her pillow as she listened to him and drifted on the edge between sleep and awake.

“Hey, Evelyn,” he yawned, settling back on the bed. “What? Yeah, that should be fine. See you then.”

He must have hung up immediately because his arms snaked around her waist and everything was blessedly quiet once more. She was about to ask what Evelyn had wanted when the buzzing started up again. Her phone.

Ginny turned to glare at the offending brick of glass and circuits before her curiosity got the better of her at the familiar name displayed on the screen. 

“Ev?” Speaking of sleep rough voices.

“Oh, Ginny, sorry! Did I wake you up?”

As a matter of fact, she had, but not with this call. Not that Ginny could tell her friend that. Not if she and Mike wanted to preserve their bubble of privacy for the foreseeable future and stay off Evelyn Sanders’ shit list. “No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

“So, I know you just got back from vacation, but I was hoping you could come over and watch the twins tonight?” Evelyn had on her best “I’m not being suspicious, what are you talking about?” voice, but Ginny was too tired and too wrapped up in the warmth of the man next to her to go on full alert.

“Oh, um,” she stuttered as Mike’s hands started to trace across her belly. “Yeah. What time were you thinking?”

Somehow, Ginny managed to make it through the rest of the phone call in spite of Mike’s wandering hands. If she hung up pretty abruptly as Mike’s fingers found their way to the elastic band of her underwear, Ginny was sure that she could come up with an excuse by tonight. 

“She ask you to babysit?” Mike murmured into the skin of her shoulder, his nails scraping gently along her inner thighs. 

"Yeah, how’d you—” Ginny rolled onto her back and took in the amused expression hovering above her. He raised an eyebrow and smirked a little. Well, that explained _his_ early phone call. “Oh my god. Is she still trying to set us up?”

“I told you we should tell her before we left for Hawaii.”

“I thought she would figure it out! We were going on vacation at the same time! When she asked if I needed a ride to the airport, I told her we were going together!”

Mike huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who told me that Evelyn sees what she wants to see.”

“I know,” she sighed. “She’s gonna be so mad when we tell her.”

“Just because we beat her to the punch,” he teased.

“Mike, we got _married.”_

No teasing was going to change _that_. 

It was one thing to hide your new relationship from the public, and therefore your friends, for privacy’s sake. It was one more thing to date in secret for more than a year without telling anyone because the utter lack of outside pressure was too good to sacrifice, even for honesty’s sake. 

It was an entirely separate thing to go on vacation, idly agree that this was the perfect place to get married, and then decide to _actually_   _get married._  In secret. Without having been engaged in the first place.

Probably. Ginny doubted that there were enough people that could actually identify with this situation to give her perspective. 

Not that the decision wasn’t entirely spontaneous. Ginny had known that she wanted to marry Mike Lawson since the first time he ripped some talking head to shreds on FS1 for calling her a disgrace to the national pastime. She’d known she loved him, was in love with him, before that, but watching him defend her to millions of Americans so passionately sealed the deal. From that point on, Mike Lawson wasn’t going to shake her without first dying or going into Witness Protection.

“Which is what she’s been angling for for the past year,” he pointed out. When Ginny didn’t stop frowning at him, he shifted the hand between her legs. Unconsciously, her thighs tightened around the intrusion, keeping him in place. “Why don’t we take your mind off this for now? After all, it _is_ our honeymoon.”

Ginny groaned. First at the terrible joke and then at something else entirely.

 

* * *

  

Mike and Ginny showed up on the Sanders’ doorstep together. Evelyn had told them slightly different times, so their simultaneous arrival should set the tone for the conversation to follow. 

They’d both decided that enough was enough. They had to tell at least Blip and Evelyn about their relationship. The rest of their friends and family (and the world) could wait. 

Ginny fidgeted at Mike’s side. All day, despite knowing that this was the right thing to do, she’d worried. How angry were Evelyn and Blip going to be when they learned the truth? They were her best friends, her support system—aside from Mike—and she didn’t want to find out what life without them was like. 

“Is it weird that Evie’s moved on to using her kids as pawns in her matchmaking schemes?” mused Mike beside her. 

Ginny flicked him an annoyed look, but he just smiled gently back at her. As usual, the sight of it made her melt. She took the offered distraction. 

“More weird than packing an entire romantic picnic that she had no intention of eating and abandoning it and us in the park? What excuse did she use to drag Blip off again?”

Mike hummed in thought. “I think she said the pollen count was too high and she was going to make Blip drive her to find some Claritin.”

“That sounds right.” As soon as she was done recollecting, though, the gravity of the situation hit her all over again. She sighed and lapsed into another worried silence. 

“Gin, you know that as long as you’re happy, they’ll be happy, too, right?” Ginny nodded, but didn’t say anything. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

She whipped around to Mike and rushed to reassure him. “Yes! Of course, I’m happy!” she exclaimed, squeezing his fingers and wishing she could kiss the worry from his face. 

Although. That would be one way to break the news to Evelyn and Blip.

Before she could move, though, the door opened to reveal Evelyn. She blinked at the sight of the two of them together. 

“Oh! You’re both here,” she said, eyes flicking between Mike and Ginny in surprise. 

“We carpooled,” Mike drawled, “since you double booked on baby sitters. Unless finally hitting the big 1-3 has really hit Marcus and Gabriel hard and you thought one of us wouldn’t be enough to contain the teen angst.”

Evelyn feigned innocence, but showed them inside. “Did I ask both of you? Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the least as she bustled into the kitchen. Bending over the open dishwasher, she didn’t bother to look at Mike or Ginny when she continued, “One of you would have been fine. If you already knew about the mix up, you didn’t both have to come.”

“Actually, we did.” Ginny leaned against the island to have something to hold her up in case things took a turn. It helped that she could feel Mike’s heat leaking into the air. Knowing he was so close, that he had her back, Ginny squared her shoulders and looked Evelyn in the eye. Or tried.

Seemingly ignorant of Ginny’s anxiety, Evelyn kept emptying dishes from the machine. “And why did both of you need to be here?” 

“We have something to tell you. Well, you and Blip. Where is he?”

“Blip’s helping the boys with algebra. I’ll tell him at dinner.” Evelyn casually waved off Ginny’s stall and went back to stacking dishes. “What is it?”

“Um.” Ginny glanced back at Mike, who looked as thrown as she was. Evelyn was one of the canniest people they knew. She should have been able to smell the shiftiness on them. There was no indication of Evelyn Sanders’ infamous intuition, though. She just kept methodically putting the dishes away. “Well, you know how Mike and I just got back from vacation?”

“Yes. How was Hawaii, by the way? And wherever you went, Mike? Nice of you to take Ginny to the airport.”

“It was Hawaii,” he contributed dryly. Ginny fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

At that, Evelyn seemed to falter, even if only for a moment. “Oh?” she asked, voice more controlled than usual. “What a coincidence.”

“Not really,” he mumbled. Ginny gave in and jabbed him in the side. 

Evelyn gave up all pretext and narrowed her eyes at the two of them. Ginny could practically see the moment her friend noticed just how close she and Mike stood, how he’d latched onto her arm and hadn’t let go. She saw it, but no look of dawning comprehension overtook her face. She just seemed to brace herself, like she was waiting for something to drop.

Testing her theory, Ginny said, “We went to Hawaii together because we’re dating.”

“Whaaaat?” Evelyn drew out and that sealed it. 

“You knew!” Ginny accused.

“What?” exclaimed Mike in real surprise.

“Fine! I figured you two out months ago. I practically walked in on Mike with his hand up your shirt, Gin.”

“When?” Ginny demanded just as, “Which time?” burst out of Mike.

Evelyn’s face contorted. “Do not tell me how often you tried to get nasty on the truly excellent dates I planned for you.”

Ginny wanted to hide her face in her hands. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Still, she had some questions. “If you knew, why didn’t you tell us? Or at least stop setting us up?”

“Please. I know Lawson has got zero game when it comes to keeping someone locked down. I was doing you a favor.”

Mike bristled and narrowed his eyes. “I have game, Ev.”

She gave him a pitying look. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

Ginny laid a hand on her husband’s—her husband!—arm, but the Lawson pride was out in full force. “Well, if I don’t have any game, then explain how I got Ginny to marry me in Hawaii.”

Silence rang in the Sanders household. 

“I’m sorry, I think I just hallucinated,” Evelyn managed.

“This was not how we discussed breaking the news,” Ginny hissed.

Mike, at least, looked sheepish. “I know. I lost my cool.” When she kept frowning up at him, he leaned down and brushed a kiss against her lips. “Sorry?”

She kissed him back, but pointed a warning finger at him after pulling away. “You owe me for blowing this, old man.”

His smile was impossibly fond. “I owe you for a lot of things, Gin.”

“Whoa, okay,” Evelyn broke in. “Hi. Yes, I’m still here and I still need an explanation.”

“We got married in Hawaii.” Best to begin with the basics, right?

“So, you eloped?”

Ginny frowned. “Not really. We didn’t go to Hawaii specifically to get married. It just happened.”

“Weddings don’t ‘just happen,’ Ginny!” 

“When you have enough money to toss around, they do,” joked Mike, earning himself another elbow to the ribs and a poisonous glare from Evelyn.

A poisonous glare that turned soft and more than a little anxious as it shifted to Ginny. 

“Ev, I wish you could have been there. It was so beautiful! And I just realized that I didn’t want to spend another day not being married to him. We weren’t even engaged!”

“Talk about skipping third and heading straight for home.”

At Evelyn’s weak joke, Ginny let loose a bubble of laughter and hugged her friend tight. Evelyn wrapped her arms around her middle and she nearly sagged with relief. When they pulled apart, Evelyn was beaming. 

“I suppose congratulations are in order. And champagne. Mike, get the glasses!”

Good-naturedly, Mike went for the crystal, pulling down stemware while Evelyn rooted around in the wine fridge. 

She straightened, beaming at the bottle in her hands. “I knew we still had one! Blip says—” She froze. “Oh, no. I’ll be right back.”

She rushed out of the kitchen, shouting for her husband the whole way. 

“Well, at least _we_ don’t have to break it to Blip,” Mike mused. He popped the cork on the champagne and filled the flutes like nothing unusual had happened. Though he passed one to Ginny, she didn’t pick it up, just looked worriedly to where Evelyn had disappeared. “Ginny. It’ll be fine. Evelyn will tell him, talk him down from his gut response, and then they’ll come back here and we’ll toast to the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Baker-Lawson.”

At the names, Ginny softened. She didn’t think she’d ever get over hearing them. Smiling up at her husband, she stepped into his space. Immediately, his hand came up to rub soothing circles against her back. “Is that a promise, Mr. Baker-Lawson?”

“A guarantee, Mrs. Baker-Lawson.”

To seal the deal, he leaned down and kissed her. He was reassuringly solid, like telling even one person had cemented this thing in reality. This wasn’t just a dream that teenage Ginny had cooked up and would wake from, disoriented and annoyed in study hall. She’d really married Mike Lawson and couldn’t be happier. She pressed closer, both winding her arms around him and flicking her tongue against his lips. Ginny happily swallowed his groan and soon they were making out in the Sanders’ kitchen. 

Good to know the honeymoon still wasn’t over.

They only broke apart when Blip’s bellowed “They did _what?”_ echoed down the stairs followed by heavy footfalls. 

“About that guarantee,” he began, finally looking a little worried himself. 

“No backing out on your promises, now, old man,” she warned laughingly. 

“As long as you don’t forget yours!”

“I didn’t promise you anything!” she protested as she heard Blip and Evelyn begin to clatter down the stairs.

“Of course you did. ‘For better or worse,’ remember?”

Oh, that. 

Ginny rocked up onto her toes to press one more kiss against Mike’s mouth before they had to face an indignant Blip Sanders. She earned herself a swift grin before her husband turned all his charm on his ex-teammate.

Well, Ginny had no intention of breaking _that_ promise, but it always paid to keep Mike on his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the prompt!! in the future I will do my best to write something that actually has some babysitting, haha.
> 
> anyway, very amped for the episode tomorrow! Come freak out with me on tumblr or twitter! I'm megaphonemonday both places


	14. something might be found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bunch of people asked for a continuation on chapter 12: [if i hadn't blown the whole thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20093983), but shout out specifically to moonstruckdreamer who had finals this week!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: fighting, angsty with a fluffy ending, Mike Lawson is a human disaster, ignores "Don't Say It"
> 
> chapter title: Still "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms

Mike seriously considered throwing down his mask and storming the mound himself to knock some sense into his pitcher. Ginny Baker was stubborn as hell, though, and hadn’t listened to a word out of his mouth in months. He doubted that a, very public, confrontation would put her in a more cooperative mood.

Why she had to be so goddamn pig-headed, he’d never know. He’d signaled for her slider three times and she’d shook him off. Three times. Behind him, the umpire shifted in annoyance and the batter huffed. Mike thought about it. It wouldn’t be the first time in Major League history that a pitcher and catcher got into on the field. But, much as he wanted to shake some sense into Ginny, he really didn’t want to go down as the man who started a brawl with the first woman in the majors.

And it would be a brawl. 

These days, it felt like his every interaction with the hurler was gearing up for a knock down, drag out fight. There was just so much _tension_  frizzling beneath the surface, tension that just kept building the longer she avoided him. It had to go somewhere.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to be going into his efforts on the field. If anything, it was messing with his game. Every time Mike looked up and saw her on the mound, it felt like the breath got knocked out of his chest. 

It was, to put it simply, not ideal.

Well, it was a lucky thing that Mike had gotten pretty good at ignoring it. Pretty good at ignoring a lot of things, in fact.

That was until Ginny shook off his fourth call in a row. 

Mike called time and flipped his mask to the top of his head and stalked the sixty-some feet to his clearly irate pitcher.

“What?” she demanded from behind her glove. Ginny scanned the crowd, though, wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“You gonna start listening to my calls any time soon, Baker?” He meant it to come out lazy and a little gruff. It did not. As had become usual this season, there was a sharp current running under his words, biting and a little cruel. If Ginny weren’t just as bad, he’d feel a little sorry. Especially when she stiffened at his words.

Her eyes flashed, but she kept her attention off of him. She practically spat, “You gonna stop asking for my slider? This guy’s been eating up off-speed all season.”

“Which is why I asked for it inside,” he responded. Even he could hear the insufferable snideness in his words. Ginny finally looked at him, wholly unimpressed. “Get him to foul it off a couple times and finish him off with your cutter.” The umpire called out about holding up the game and Mike went, happy enough to have the last word. 

Or maybe not.

“Yeah,” he heard Ginny mutter, “walk away. That’s what you’re good at.”

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Mike was stalking back up the mound, ignoring the protests of the umpire. Something dark and dangerous and deep had opened up inside him and he let the rage take over. 

He didn’t stop with the solid cushion of space the way he usually did. (A cushion that had grown this season into something closer to a chasm. It didn’t matter that she was still an arm’s length away from him. She felt distant and untouchable as a star.) No, Mike stepped right into her, his cleat carving out a space between hers so he could loom effectively. He wasn’t above using his height and weight advantage on her, not when she was so clearly asking for a fight.

Not once in his sixteen-year career had Mike been so angry with a teammate. Even as the rage bubbled in his gut, he knew it wasn’t about being waved off. That was par for the course with Ginny Baker. 

This was about the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eye in the clubhouse. The way she’d stop laughing the moment he stepped in a room. The way he hadn’t been this close to her since she broke down in the training suite and sobbed into his chest. 

She couldn’t just do that! Practically tell him he’d been driving her crazy and then turn around and refuse to acknowledge him the minute he offered to talk about it.

Except, apparently, she could.

Ginny glared up at him, pure defiance. 

The hollow in his chest yawned wider. 

Mike had been around long enough, seen enough spats between teammates, to guess at what the pundits would say about this moment. Could see the replays they’d go over with a fine-toothed comb. He knew without looking that Al was debating whether or not it would be worse to make the trip out to the mound himself or wait them out. The roar of the crowd reached deafening levels and it was hard not to imagine that they were screaming for blood. Even if that blood was his. 

He knew all of that, but didn’t care. 

What he cared about was winning this game and putting his team one step closer to the World Series. What he cared about was getting this upstart pitcher to listen to him and his many years of experience so they _could_  win this game. What he cared about was proving that he’d made the right choice in focusing on the game to the detriment of every other aspect of his life. What he cared about was the way that ring would finally feel on his finger. What he cared about was getting to celebrate with the woman in front of him— 

What he cared about was Ginny. 

Goddamnit. 

Mike stared down at this spitfire, this incredible human being. He didn’t say anything, but Ginny’s eyes widened, and he knew he still must have given himself away. He wanted to be angry with her, but how could he?

“Lawson!” shouted the ump. 

He swallowed and stepped away, his eyes trained on Ginny Baker. She looked back, a little stunned and still a little angry. Mike turned back to home and tried to ignore the way his chest ached as he turned his back on her. 

As he settled back behind the plate, only one thought crossed his mind. 

 _I have to fix this_. 

 

* * *

 

After the game, Mike got his ass handed to him by everyone that he gave an opening. And he left a lot of openings. Reporters, Al, the entire bullpen, even Buck found it in himself to make a comment. If he disagreed with any of them, he wouldn’t have put up with it. 

But Mike knew when he’d fucked up, and he would take his licks like a man.

Unfortunately, that meant that by the time he made it out of his ice bath and to the door of Ginny’s changing room, she was long gone. 

He stood outside the empty room long enough to draw concerned looks. 

Long enough for Blip to come over. 

The center fielder crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height. Distantly, Mike knew that he would have been offended on Ginny’s behalf if Blip hadn’t gone into full on intimidation mode. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at the Baker jersey hanging neatly outside her cubby. 

Eventually, Blip sighed, though the frown didn’t disappear from his face. “Listen, man,” he said. “I don’t know what went down between you two because Evelyn’s learned how to keep a secret. She hasn’t spilled a word and lord knows I’ve tried to crack her. What I do know is that whatever happened has now officially gotten to the field. That can’t happen.”

Mike turned and glared. “What, you worried this is gonna blow up a World Series bid?” 

“I’m worried that this thing is gonna blow up way bigger for her than you,” he replied, firm and unsympathetic.

It took too much effort not to shrink under Blip’s gaze. 

“Fix it, Mike.” 

 

* * *

 

Which was how Mike found himself padding down the hallways of the Omni. Every step he took closer to Ginny Baker’s door sent something rattling around in his stomach. It felt too much like nerves, like he was fourteen and about to ask a girl out for the first time again, like it was his first at bat in the majors. Like he was maybe walking to his doom.

Even as he knocked, he didn’t let himself anticipate what would happen if the door opened. For all he knew, Ginny wasn’t even in her room. Maybe she’d gone out and even now was laughing with someone about her crazy catcher. Maybe she’d take one look out of the peephole, see him, and refuse to let him inside.

Not that he knew what that felt like. 

He was so wrapped up in managing his expectations that the slight snick of the latch caught him completely by surprise. 

Ginny braced herself between the door and the frame, a clear message that Mike was not particularly welcome inside. 

Despite her closed off body language, the sight of her sent Mike’s breath rushing out of his lungs. Like always. 

It punched him right in the gut, just where the yawning chasm that was Ginny Baker’s absence from his life opened into his chest. Mostly, he’d gotten used to the dull ache. It wasn’t like his knees or back or ankles, which cycled through sudden flare ups that he knew how to treat. No, this was all the time, a terminal, insidious drag on his ability to uphold the status quo. And then, he’d catch sight of her and he’d tumble back into the abyss all over again.

If he hadn’t already accepted that he was deeply in love with Ginny Baker, Mike would have been disgusted with himself. But he was. He was in so deep that even going out on dates with some of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelorettes hadn’t been enough to overshadow the memory of Ginny’s smile, her laugh, her frown of concentration. He’d finally given up on trying. What was the point when he couldn’t even bring himself to kiss any of those women, not when it was so clear they weren’t who he wanted?

“Baker,” he greeted, his voice gruff.

Ginny’s lips pursed. She looked exhausted and not just from a hard game. When had the circles under her eyes gone so dark? She’d already changed out of her high performance lycra and into something looser, softer. Like this, she looked less like the 24-year-old phenom on everybody’s mind and more like a regular person. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk about this.”

“Do we?” she challenged. “You’ve seemed pretty happy not talking about this.”

“What part of me seems happy right now?” Mike let himself sag, show her just how tired he was, too. 

Ginny’s eyes flickered and her pretty mouth untwisted, lips falling apart. It wasn’t often that Mike got to see her so openly vulnerable. He could count the instances on one hand. She studied him, the worry and hurt and exhaustion plain on her face, so Mike returned the favor. Silently, she stepped back and allowed him inside. 

He hadn’t ever been in her room before, hadn’t even really thought about her living situation beyond fantasies of what it might be like to share space. It was big for a hotel room, with a kitchen and a living area, but it was still just a hotel room. Beige walls and dark carpet to hide any stains. Nothing about it felt like Ginny and the thought of her living here for a year made his heart suddenly ache for her. How did she shoulder so much responsibility with so little support of her own?

Not that he’d helped matters. 

He turned to face Ginny, who’d closed the door but hadn’t stepped away from it. Like she wanted to keep the escape route open.

“I’m sorry.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye and kept chewing on her lip. Eventually, she replied, “You’ve said that.” 

He had. The last time he’d had her in his arms, he’d murmured apologies into her hair, but it hadn’t done him much good. Hadn’t done them much good.

“Well, you said things haven’t changed, but they have,” he pointed out. “Things have changed since they first called you up.”

Ginny crossed her arms, though it looked less defensive and more like a means of self comfort. “We’re still teammates. You’re still my captain. None of the important things have changed.”

“This feels pretty important.”

Her eyes zipped to his and Mike felt lightning-struck. Her face was still so guarded, but she was finally _looking_  at him. Then, something shut itself off behind her eyes and she bristled. 

“What? Now that it’s shown up on the field and risked your shot at the World Series, my stupid crush is important?”

Which, what?

“Stupid crush?” he managed.

Ginny flushed, and dropped her gaze. “It’s fine. I’ll get over it. Now that you’re not in the tabloids every other day, it’s easier.”

Mike was still lost. Did she think that this tension, this unease, was all on her? Did she think that he didn’t ache just as much knowing that they couldn’t make a go of it? Did she think she was in this on her own?

“Ginny, I love you.”

As far as confessions went, this was not one Mike had ever considered. He’d had a lot of time to think about just how he wanted to first tell Ginny Baker he loved her, too. 

“You what?” She looked just as taken aback as he felt, though admittedly for a different reason.

“I love you,” he laughed. How couldn’t she have known?

She gaped at him for a minute before finding her voice. “But, all those women?”

Mike took a step towards her and she didn’t shrink away. He took another and another until he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Tentatively, he brushed a stray curl behind her ear and let his palm hover there. Ginny’s eyes widened, her lips parted, and, ever so slightly, she leaned into his hand. 

“I’m a mess. I was trying to distract myself from the one woman I wanted. The more I did it, the more I realized none of them could hold a candle to you.”

Ginny’s face was slow to light up. Mike watched her take in his words and digest them. Watched her study his face as she mulled them over. Watched as her lips curled and her cheeks dimpled and the wrinkles smoothed from her brow. 

She was breathtaking. 

But she’d always been breathtaking. Even when she couldn’t wrangle her curve and had him trotting to the backstop on every other pitch. 

“You are a mess,” she said, but it came out teasing, with none of the harsh edge that had characterized most of their jabs for the past few months. More importantly, she didn’t move away from him. In fact, she nuzzled more certainly against his rough palm. 

“Only because of you.”

The look she gave him was pure exasperation. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean you can try and pin all your problems on me, Lawson,” she warned, practically beaming. Any sting was tempered by the way her long arms wound around his waist and she tugged him closer. And the fact that she loved him, too.

“Whatever you say, Baker,” he murmured. 

This was it. Mike was finally going to do what he should have done months ago. He was going to kiss Ginny Baker and never let her go. Screw what he should be doing, all that had gotten him was a lot of heartache. 

Her lips brushed against his and Mike was lost and found and every other sappy cliche in the book. What did he care? 

For once, there was nothing to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not super satisfied with the tone of this, but I wanted to get it up tonight. If I let myself, I'll work on it for another week or four.
> 
> anyway, how are we all feeling after that finale? Aside from ready to storm Fox if this show doesn't get picked up for another 3 seasons? i'd love to hear your thoughts! Here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


	15. hard to recover lost ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [missyriver](http://www.missyriver.tumblr.com) prompted: I cant believe I'm asking for this but can you write one where Mike walkes in on Ginny kissing Noah?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: angry Ginny Baker, unrepentant Mike Lawson, Omar somehow got stuck in the middle, future/speculative fic
> 
> chapter title: Henry Chadwick quote that doesn't have anything to do with anything

The first time it happened, Ginny was willing to write it off as a coincidence. 

The second time, she was definitely more annoyed, but still largely unsuspicious. 

The third through fifth times that a San Diego Padre interrupted her and Noah, she became sure that someone, somewhere, was fucking with her. 

And her list of suspects began and ended with one Mike Lawson.

It wasn’t just that he was the only one, aside from maybe Al, who had the kind of pull necessary to orchestrate this kind of conspiracy. Even if he’d burned some bridges with the whole Cubs thing last season, Mike was still the captain of the Padres. When he came up with a plan, the guys fell in line. 

The more convincing evidence for Mike’s interference, though, was that the constant interruptions only became a problem _after_ he walked in on her kissing Noah the first time.

(Okay, Ginny would admit that making out in the middle of the Padres clubhouse was ill-advised at best. But Noah had asked for a tour of the Park when he picked her up from PT, and it was the off season. It wasn’t as if she was expecting to be interrupted. Particularly by her mentor and captain. 

“Jesus, Baker. Save it for the bedroom,” he’d griped, surprising Ginny into breaking away from Noah. Sheepishly, she’d turned to Mike, who was dressed for training in his regular Under Armour gear, smirk firmly in place. If he seemed a little more grouchy than usual, Ginny assumed that had more to do with Rachel and a general distrust of romance than a specific distrust of her and Noah. She’d apologized and dragged Noah straight out of the clubhouse.)

After that, though, it seemed like it was open season on her love life. 

Between Salvamini and his kids crashing their date at the zoo and Duarte actually showing up at her door in the middle of a lazy Sunday morning, spouting lies about a workout, Ginny had been mildly amused. Hell, Noah had been amused. She’d been willing to call it belated rookie pranks and move on with her life.

This, though. _This_ was the last straw. 

Ginny didn’t really care that she was causing a scene as she practically dragged Omar over to Mike’s cubby. She didn't care that every single one of her teammates was watching this spectacle when they should be minding their own fucking business. She didn’t care because she was _livid_. It was easier than giving into any one of the other emotions roiling inside her. She shoved the quaking man in front of her captain and crossed her arms expectantly. 

When it became clear that Omar wasn’t going to say anything and Mike wasn’t going to ask, Ginny cleared her throat and glared pointedly at the both of them. 

Because Omar Robles wasn’t an idiot, he shrank under her gaze, but Mike Lawson just leaned back in his chair, apparently unimpressed. 

“Shouldn’t you be warming up?” Mike asked, like it wasn’t all too clear that Ginny was ready to murder one or both of them in the very near future. 

The low growl of frustration she emitted didn’t seem to clear up matters. 

“What’s got her panties in a bunch?” he asked Omar roughly, with none of the usual teasing the question should have required. He just seemed tired, wary even. For his part, Omar had steadily inched away from Ginny and looked physically pained by the situation. 

“Go,” Ginny commanded, jerking her head dismissively at the utility player. If he wasn't gonna say anything for himself, she could handle this on her own.

In an instant, he was gone, leaving just Ginny to glower down at her catcher. Who looked supremely unaffected by her anger.

Well, time to make him change his tune. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Lawson?”

Mike swept a sardonic gaze around the clubhouse before landing back on her. “Getting ready to play a little thing called baseball. It’s the national pastime, Baker. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Ginny would not let herself be charmed. She crossed her arms over her chest and felt a hot second away from tapping her toe impatiently. “Cut the shit,” she ground out. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

He raised an eyebrow, like this was all some elaborate joke, but Ginny also saw the way he set his jaw, gearing up for a fight.  “And what exactly am I doing?” he challenged. His arms came up to cross over his chest, too, an unconscious mirror of her own pose.

She did not have time for this game he was playing. He was right, she should be warming up. With a tired scoff, her anger finally wearing out, she pled, “Just call them off, Lawson. I don’t know what your angle was, convincing the team poke their noses where they didn’t belong, but there’s nothing left to interrupt, okay?”

To her horror, Ginny felt actual tears welling up in her eyes. 

In the middle of the clubhouse.

It was probably warranted, considering her boyfriend had just broken up with her, but also undermined the strength of her argument.

Before Mike could do anything more than start forward in his seat, Ginny rushed off to her changing room. 

After all, there was a game to play.

She got a scant three minutes of peace before there was a soft knock on her door.

“Go away,” she muttered mulishly, not quite loud enough to be heard in the hall. That didn’t mean she wasn’t annoyed when her words went unheeded.

Mike Lawson strolled inside the little room and closed the door behind him. Much as he tried to seem relaxed as he sank into the empty chair, Ginny knew he was walking on eggshells. Whether it was from her outburst or the fact that they were _alone_  for the first time in recent memory, she wasn’t sure. 

“What?” she snapped, swiveling away from his steady gaze and staring into her cubby. Not that there was much to look at. She just couldn’t stand to look at him right now.

“Nothin’,” he returned. He blew an obnoxious bubble from the wad of gum permanently taking up space in his mouth.

Ginny whirled on him. He wasn’t even going to apologize? Her jaw worked in silent outrage, but Mike just studied her, head tipped to the side in thought.

“Robles spilled the beans,” he said eventually. Her mouth twisted, but she stayed quiet. He was the one who’d come to her, after all. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” she spat acidly, “doing great. Turns out, getting broken up with is much better with an audience. An audience who shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

Ginny wasn’t sure how poor Omar had drawn the short straw in this particular instance or how he’d even known where to find her, but he’d walked up at precisely the wrong moment. The moment where Noah leaned in to give her cheek one last kiss before walking away. For good. 

Then, Omar had to make the mistake of cracking a joke, having completely misread the situation. That didn’t last long. Not when Ginny frogmarched him up to their captain without so much as an explanation, her ire radiating off her in waves. 

Mike just nodded, slow and speculative. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he confessed, channeling the cocky bastard Ginny had gotten to know so well at the beginning of last season. “Though, I have to say, if he couldn’t put up with a few interruptions from your teammates, I’m surprised he stuck around for so long.”

“That’s not why he broke up with me, you asshole,” she bit out. If he wasn’t going to own up to setting the team on her, Ginny had no reason to be polite.

Mike’s eyebrows rose, but he kept on smirking. “Language, Baker. Aren’t you supposed to be some kinda role model?”

“Aren’t _you_?” Which, as far as comebacks went, was about as weak as they come. 

He shrugged. “Nothing on your level,” was his answer, easy as anything. It was almost as if they had these one on ones every day.

They didn’t.

Ever since she’d been cleared to come off the DL, Mike had been nothing but professional. They looked at heat maps, went over lineups, argued over calls, but it was all baseball all the time. It was strange. And not at all what Ginny had meant last season, five outs away from a no-hitter, by “not talking about it.”

Because even if they definitely weren’t talking about it, it was still on her mind. 

How did Mike brush it off so easily? Didn’t he think about the what ifs? Would they ever stop swirling around her brain? Was it possible for things to go back to normal? Did she want them to? How could something that never even happened haunt her so thoroughly?

Mike nudged her chair, knocking Ginny out of her thoughts. “So, why’d the whiz kid dump your sorry ass?”

It wasn’t as if she could tell him the truth and say: you. Because while Noah hadn’t come right out and said it, the implication had been there. 

What he’d said was this: “I don’t know if I want to invest more time into something that feels so unbalanced. I like you Ginny, but I can’t get a read on you. I thought maybe you were just reserved or shy, but—” He broke off and directed a pointed look at a Lawson jersey on display in the gift shop. Ginny tried to think back to the number of times Noah and Mike had even seen each other, let alone interacted, but could only come up with a handful. Had she given herself away so easily? “I don’t mind being the one with more on the line, but I don’t want to be second best.”

She hadn’t argued, couldn’t have come up with something to say if she’d wanted to. So, Noah had sighed, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and left. 

Which was when Omar found her. 

Yeah, telling Mike all that would really turn out well.

“Turned out he liked the Red Sox,” she lied.

Mike hissed. “You giving away team secrets, Baker?”

Ginny huffed a laugh and tried not to read into the pleased grin that spread across Mike’s face. “All of ‘em,” she deadpanned, hauling herself to her feet and snagging her hat from its hook. After she situated it on her head, she extended a hand down to Lawson, looking up at her with undisguised amusement. “I hear we’ve got a game of baseball to play. The national pastime. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” 

The grin turned into a full blown smile, and he clapped his palm against hers, letting her pull him upright. It definitely undermined his warning of, “Watch the attitude, Baker.”

“You love it,” she tossed back, not even thinking. Ginny nearly froze, but Mike just laughed and looped an arm across her shoulders. It felt like the closest they’d been to normal in a long time. He steered them outside without further comment. 

That was okay. His warmth at her side was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super sorry for how long it took me to get this out, but thank you for the prompt!! I started writing one thing and decided it was terrible, started writing a second thing and decided I couldn't inflict it on people, and then started writing this. So, it's been a Process™. (also sorry for any typos, I was in something of a rush. Point them out if you find any?)
> 
> Anyway, I'm going out of town next week, but am trying to set up a couple of fics to drop while I'm away, so if you'd like to leave a prompt, go for it! Here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com), as always


	16. like we're not scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Bawson Prompt inspired by the Adele song All I Ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: post "Scratched," not "Don't Say It" compliant, Ginny's humming, Blip Sanders is better than you
> 
> chapter title: "All I Ask" by Adele (where else?)

 

Ginny isn’t humming Katy Perry anymore. 

Well, Mike’s reasonably sure it isn’t Katy Perry. He can’t just ask her because they’re avoiding each other. 

More accurately, Mike’s avoiding her. Avoiding her sad eyes and her incessant pushing for a conversation about what happened.

Nothing happened! 

Much as Mike _might_ wish it were different, there’s nothing to talk about, and he plans on steering clear of Ginny Baker and his inability to function around her for the near future. 

Which, unfortunately, has led to him feeling like a huge fucking creep more often than not. 

Because here he is, back pressed to the wall outside of the training suite, too scared to go inside because of a rookie pitcher splayed out on the mats, humming away. 

It’s like he can’t help himself. Only _like_  because Mike is unwilling to admit that it might just be that he _can’t_. 

He still remembers that bolt of fondness that hit him the last time he witnessed her stretch and hum routine. A bolt of fondness that sent him careening to Chicago. Well, almost. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s Adele, man.”

Mike startles guiltily at the sound of Blip’s voice. The center fielder lounges against the wall a few feet away. How long he’s been there while Mike contemplated things better left unexamined is anyone’s guess. 

“Huh?” he asks, like there’s any chance that Blip might let him off the hook on this one. 

“Listen,” Blip says, pushing off the wall and taking up a stance directly in front of Mike, arms crossed and frown halfway between judgmental and concerned. At least he isn’t smug. “Aside from knowing that she’s not unhappy with me, I don’t really want to know why my wife was making a playlist full of all Adele’s breakup songs. I also,” here, he pauses for effect, eyeing Mike critically, “don’t want to know what that playlist is doing on Ginny’s ipod. Got it?”

With that, he leaves Mike to his lurking. 

He listens as Ginny’s hums float into the hallway, a little more tuneful than usual, before following Blip’s example and leaving her in peace.

If, when Mike gets home, he spends far too much time combing through Adele’s discography, no one has to know. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t suffer through any kind of flashbacks as he works through _21_. What? He’s man enough to admit that it was in heavy rotation when Rachel first left him. There is a certain amount of relief in affirming that nothing there matches up even loosely to Ginny’s new personal soundtrack.

He gets most of the way through _25_  before perking up, cocking his head as the piano and Adele’s husky voice pulse in surround sound.

 _There_. That was the key change that she’d butchered over and over. 

He goes back and listens to the song from the beginning, even going so far as to google the lyrics. If Ginny was humming it on repeat, it had to mean _something_ , right?

His breath catches in his chest as he reads through the lyrics, words slotting into the music and crashing directly into that ache that hasn’t left him since he stepped away from Ginny Baker on the curb outside of Boardner’s Bar.

 _How the hell does she know?_  he thinks irrationally. _How the fuck does Adele_ know _?_

Mike’s rationality doesn’t come back. Not until he’s standing outside of Ginny Baker’s door, already knocking. 

He doesn’t consider that she might not be in. He doesn’t consider that she might have company. He doesn’t consider that she might just not want to see him. 

What he does consider is the fact that she might be reliving that _moment_  again and again, just like he has, wallowing in longing what ifs. The fact that she might think that song still applies to her. How could it now that he’s not going anywhere. 

When the door opens and reveals her, not rumpled but certainly comfortable with not a speck of high performance spandex in sight, Mike feels like he can breathe again. And how ridiculous is that? It’s only been three months and he practically needs her to breathe.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

“Lawson?” she asks, peering into the hallway to see if he’s brought any other company. Once she realizes he’s alone, her focus zeroes in on him, a worried pucker creasing her brow. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he waves her off, still drinking in the sight of her. “Just. Did you know that you hum when you’re stretching?”

Ginny rolls with non sequitur, though she’s clearly confused. “I guess?” She frowns. “Is this really something that you needed to bring up now? You couldn’t have waited for the next kangaroo court?”

“No, it’s not—” Mike scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated with his inability to just come out and say what he wants to say. “It’s not a problem, it’s just a fact. You hum Katy Perry when you stretch.”

She’s still looking at him like he might be insane, but there’s a touch of fondness in her face, too. It’s the most reassuring thing he’s seen in a long time. “Okay...” Ginny trails off, unsure of what he’s building to.

“Only, the song’s changed,” he explains, though the leap really only makes sense to him. “You’ve been humming something different. Ever since...”

Understanding lights up her eyes and she worries her lower lip, nodding a bit. “Since,” Ginny confirms, her arms coming up to cross over her stomach.

He knows they’re both replaying those agonizing moments on the curb again, practically willing his phone to stay silent.

Mike tries, but doesn’t manage to contain the next question. “Why’d you want me to leave?” He knows they’re all too exposed, Ginny standing in the open door and Mike in the hall. Practically anyone could be listening in. There’s another one for the list of things Mike Lawson is not concerned about. He wants to know. 

“I told you,” Ginny says. If she’s thrown for a loop by the scattershot nature of the conversation, she doesn’t show it. She’s staring at him, utterly focused. If they were on the field, he’d be sure she was about to throw the game of her life. Here, in the artificial lighting of her hotel hallway, there are fewer certainties. “It was the same reason you wanted to go.”

“And why was that?” he presses, taking a step forward, a little desperate. 

Ginny holds her ground, gaze steady on him. Mostly steady. She draws in a quick little breath and her eyes flick to his lips before making eye contact again. Still, she replies, “It was distracting.”

“The trade talks or,” and here, Mike reaches out—slow enough to telegraph his every motion, to give her time to decide—and takes her hand, entwines their fingers, “this?”

He stares at their tangled hands. Watches his thumb draw mindless patterns against her skin. Prays he hasn’t ruined everything. 

“This.” It’s hardly more than a breath, but Mike hears it all the same. His head snaps up and he meets Ginny’s shining eyes. No tears. Just fragile, boundless hope. 

Magnetically, Mike steps into her space again and their foreheads come together. He’s practically breathless as the echoes of what ifs reverberate through the moment. 

“There’s no flight to catch,” Ginny murmurs, breath puffing warm and inviting against his mouth. 

“No,” he agrees. Mike couldn’t take his eyes off the dark spread of her eyelashes on her cheek if he wanted to. 

“Good,” is all she says before closing that final inch of distance, lips coming together in almost a sigh. 

 _God_ , he thinks as Ginny pulls him inside, not even bothering to break the kiss. _What kind of idiot was I to think I could get away with only doing this once?_

All he knows is that he never wants to stop kissing Ginny Baker. 

That and maybe, just maybe, Adele was wrong on this one. 

There’s definitely a tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that ended up places i wasn't expecting. i won't argue with mike lawson being the sappiest, though.
> 
> I think I'll have something posted later in the week for Christmas/Hanukkah. Probably not all 8 nights of Hanukkah, because that seems like over-committing, but at least one big Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/winter solstice offering? It'll probably be the next chapter of why do the yankees always in? if that's what you're into. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think and/or if I have left out any important end of December holidays! Here or on tumblr, where i'm megaphonemonday


	17. many times, many ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [missyriver](http://www.missyriver.tumblr.com) prompted: Okay no angst request this time. But a Padres Christmas Party and Mike gets Ginny and autographed poster of him, "For your collection" also Ginny got him her jersey. Guess im feeling fluffy today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Padres Christmas party, gift giving, post-Season 1
> 
> chapter title: "The Christmas Song" by Nat King Cole

Ginny was honestly surprised she was considered enough of a Padre to warrant an invitation to the team Christmas party. 

Sure, a lot of that surprise was founded in self-pity, but she felt she was allowed. 

After all, her rookie season in the bigs ended (and started, honestly) in heartbreak, her brother wasn’t speaking to her, Amelia was back, but their relationship was strained, and Noah wouldn’t quit dropping hints about a world tour that Ginny was increasingly sure she had no interest in. 

And Mike Lawson was back with his wife. Not that she cared about that. If he was happy, so was she. It hadn’t been a lie when she said those words to Amelia and it wasn’t now. 

All in all, there wasn’t a lot that was really putting her in a festive mood. 

Only Blip’s promise of excellent catering and free-flowing booze had secured her attendance.

Mostly, she wanted to do what she’d done since her season ended: sit in her hotel room and binge watch terrible reality shows. They helped her feel better about her own life. 

The life where she was getting ready to go to a party for a team she wasn’t even sure she belonged to anymore. The doctors and front office sounded optimistic, but Ginny knew the drill. Players were sent back down to the minors all the time for slighter injuries than hers. 

Well. She might as well take advantage of being a Padre while she still could. Especially when there was free food involved. 

She was keeping her expectations low for this party. 

Which was maybe a good thing. Because if she’d expected what happened upon walking into Charlie Graham’s monster house, she probably wouldn’t have come. Not because she didn’t appreciate the exuberant cheer of greeting from her teammates, but because it nearly made her tear up in gratitude.

Not that she’d admit it to any of them. That was definitely dust in her eye.

The guys passed her around, giving her commiserating pats on the back and tips for her physical therapy. Livan danced her around the room in a quick salsa, hardly even wincing when she stepped on his toes. The bullpen called on her as a tiebreaker vote in the matter of Butch’s unwashed socks—they clearly weren’t that lucky to begin with, it was laundry time. Al kissed her cheek and wrapped a fatherly arm around her, almost immediately prompting another threat of tears. 

All in all, they seemed remarkably cheerful for a group that had experienced a truly lackluster September. Jokes and playful banter whizzed through the air and Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this _cheerful_. 

That was probably the open bar at work.

Despite being traded from Padre to Padre, there was one man Ginny had yet to see. And she was fine with that. She didn’t need to see Mike Lawson smiling dotingly on his wife. It would only make her regret coming. And Ginny really didn’t want to regret tonight. 

Eventually, though, despite Ginny’s best efforts, she found herself face to face with her captain. 

Mike had been lurking at the edge of the party all evening. Ginny only knew this because she’d kept him in her peripheral to better avoid him and whatever awkwardness their encounter might stir up. They hadn’t seen each other often enough since her season ended to have become comfortable again. If keeping him at the edge of her sight also cut down on chances of her seeing Rachel with him, that was just an added bonus. 

Of course, Oscar didn’t seem to care about Ginny’s plans. 

“Ginny, Mike, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find our host.”

Not that they really had a choice because Oscar was gone before they could reply.

“How are you?” he eventually asked, looking at some point over her shoulder. 

“Good,” she replied, automatic. “You?”

“I’m good.”

Ginny kind of wanted to melt into the floor. If this was how awkward they were going to be forever, it was looking like a more and more attractive option. 

“So,” Ginny floundered for something to say. She noted a conspicuous absence at Mike’s side and looked around, but couldn’t see any sign. “Did Rachel have to leave early?”

“What?” Mike frowned in confusion. “She’s in LA. Probably. I wouldn’t know.”

Ginny hated the way she could feel her stomach swoop at that information. Had he and Rachel broken things off again? Was he back on the market? 

Not that she could care about Mike Lawson’s relationship status. 

Still, Ginny couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face. 

Mike saw and let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. “You need to work on your sympathy, rookie. We can’t all have billionaires offering to fly us around the world.”

Of course, he was one to talk about sympathy. Mike’s grin matched hers when she told him Noah would have to plan on a solo trip for the foreseeable future. 

After that, it felt like things clicked back into place. They were Baker and Lawson once again, pitcher and catcher, unnaturally attuned to each other. Ginny would have to examine why things became so much easier when they both knew the other was available, but tonight was for celebrating the holidays with her newfound family. With Mike. 

The rest of the party passed in something of a blur, but Ginny would remember the warm feeling of belonging and laughter and Mike never moving too far from her side. He even offered her a ride home, which she gladly accepted. 

As she slid into his low-slung car, she caught sight of a brown paper package propped up on the back seat. The only indication that it might be an actual present was the stick-on bow smack in the middle of the otherwise plain wrapping. She shrugged it off and turned her attention back to Mike, who was telling her all about the year Blip joined the Padres and all the rookie pranks he had to endure. 

She managed to forget all about it even. Right up until Mike parked the car in the Omni’s parking garage and ducked into the back to pull the thing out of the back seat before following Ginny to the waiting elevator. There hadn’t been any discussion of whether or not Mike would walk her to her room, but she was glad he’d made the same decision she did. Even if her curiosity nearly overshadowed her relief.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding to the over-large gift with its dinky, little bow as the elevator started its ascent. There were many times that Ginny had thought to be grateful for the Omni’s private parking structure, complete with elevator that opened directly onto the guest floors. It saved her the hassle of having to dodge photographers outside the hotel. 

She could only imagine what kind of ruckus there’d be at the sight of Mike Lawson escorting her to her room. 

“Your gift,” he replied with a shrug. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be at the party, but I figured better safe than sorry.”

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts.” 

“We” meaning the team because Ginny didn’t want to let herself imagine that Mike had just gotten a gift for her. Had seen something and thought, “That’s for Ginny.” For the team, though, it had been decided that the greatest gift they could give each other was chipping in for an open bar. 

“Huh.” Mike scratched at his chin and squinted down at her. He dangled the present in front of her to punctuate his point. “The wrapped gift I’m trying to give you would indicate otherwise.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but took the wrapped gift from him, offering up an exasperated sigh as he warned, “Watch the arm,” but still bearing most of the weight with her left hand. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the edge, she knew exactly what she would find beneath the paper.

“You didn’t,” she accused, glaring at him playfully. He just waggled his eyebrows in response. 

How was this the man that she—

Well.

The elevator doors slid open and she marched off to her room, Mike trailing behind. She made him take the present back so she could unlock her door and then didn’t take it back, hoping she could escape the embarrassment of having to open it. 

Mike seemed to sense her discomfort. Sensed it and took great pleasure in it if the shit-eating grin on his face was any indication. 

“C’mon, Baker,” he coaxed, settling onto her couch and patting the seat next to him. He’d already laid his gift out on the coffee table where it practically taunted her. “You’ve gotta open it sometime.”

“You unbelievable dick,” she muttered mulishly, sinking next to him and eyeing the gift warily. 

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

Finally, Ginny leaned forward and tore into the paper. Beneath it, covered in glass, was Mike’s unsmiling, bearded face. He’d gotten her a poster of himself, the narcissist. Eye black streaked across his cheeks, though she remembered that they’d taken the pictures inside. They’d made him put on all his gear, too. His legs were braced apart, catcher’s mask propped against his hip. Scrawled across his chest protector, in the chicken scratch he called handwriting, was a message: 

> To Ginny Baker,   
>  My #1 fan and rookie.   
>  For your collection.  
>  -Mike Lawson

“I do not have a collection,” she protested, still staring at the serious, intimidating man on the poster. It wasn’t that hard to reconcile him with the Mike Lawson sitting next to her, eyes twinkling and practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. But that was just because she knew him. Knew what he was like on the field and off it. 

“We all know I’m your favorite player, rook,” he shot back, grinning. 

“Yeah, well who’s yours?” she grumped, trying not to grin at her gift.

“You.”

His response was so immediate, so easy, it took Ginny a moment to process it. When she looked at him, he was already looking back, smile soft and gentle and not even a little teasing. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly, intensely, wished that she weren’t a Padre. 

But she was. And she and Mike were still teammates. And teammates didn’t look at each other the way Mike was looking at her. The way she knew she was looking at him. 

Ginny stood abruptly to put space between them. 

Because Mike could read her just as easily as he read batters, he stood, too, but didn’t try to close the distance.

“We aren’t talking about this,” she said, before he could open his mouth.

His jaw worked, like he was thinking. “No,” he finally agreed. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe you should go,” Ginny offered, ignoring the sharp tug at the thought of him leaving.

“Yeah.” For someone so agreeable, Mike’s mouth was set in a contemplative frown. Finally, though, he shook himself and moved to go. Because she couldn’t resist, Ginny followed. Before he opened the door, Mike turned back to her. “I was serious, Ginny.”

“About what?”

His smile was so drastically different from the serious, intimidating look on the poster. Ginny’s breath caught again. “You. You are my favorite.”

Then, he leaned in and she had to close her eyes against the wave of his cologne washing over her, warm and musky and Mike. His beard, followed by a dry brush of his lips, pressed against her cheek, lingering long enough for Ginny to really consider turning her head and capturing his lips with her own. Finally, though, he pulled back and murmured, “Merry Christmas, Gin,” before he was out the door and Ginny was alone. 

She took a shuddering breath, wondering how they were going to get through the next season without giving into temptation. 

As she turned back to her room, though, her eyes caught on the gift he’d left her, a plan beginning to form. After all, staying busy would definitely be a good distraction from her Mike Lawson problem. Even if she intended to keep busy in a way that would keep her focus precisely on Mike Lawson. 

Ginny was a big girl. She could handle it.

So, if, when Ginny woke up on Christmas morning, she smiled at the thought of Mike unwrapping her gift to him, that was entirely her business. 

Across San Diego, in his fish bowl house, Mike chuckled as he opened his gift: a limited edition Ginny Baker All-Star jersey, accompanied by a note. 

> “To start _your_ collection.  
>  xo Ginny  
>  P.S. You’re my favorite, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my Christmas fic for the year. I've also got a chapter of why do the yankees always win in the pipeline, as my gift to every lovely member of the bawson fam. You are all such joys!!
> 
> Hope that everyone is having a happy holidays and/or winter (or summer for folks down in the southern hemisphere) and that no one is too stressed out by family, parties, company, whatever. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!


	18. faster. bolder. higher.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: I was rewatching the workour-part of episode 2 and I would love a story about the guys i the team working out with Ginny trying to keep up and not being able to. Maybe even in the beginning where they didn´t respect her yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Bawson adjacent, the Padres learning to accept that Ginny Baker is better than them
> 
> chapter title: "No Fear" by Black Violin

Ginny wasn’t sure what, exactly, changed after she did Kimmel, but suddenly her early morning workouts weren’t quite so lonely. 

It started with Tommy, who’d shown up scowling and annoyed the day after they returned to San Diego. He still seemed to think she was a waste of space, but followed her around her circuit anyway. She’d caved half an hour in and asked him what he was doing here so early, but he just replied, “You’re not the only one who works your ass off, Baker,” with a pointed scowl.

At least, she thought that was what he said. There was a bit of a wheeze to his words that made him hard to understand. So, Ginny shrugged it off and kept running, punching up the speed on her treadmill and smiling to herself as Tommy followed suit. 

When Mike showed up a few minutes later, he sent the other pitcher an approving nod before settling into his own stretches. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. Of course Lawson had a hand in whatever was going on here. Still, he seemed to mind his own business, going through his sets alone. If Ginny felt his attention on her and Tommy more than once, she never did quite catch him in the act. 

When, at the end of her cool down, Tommy gave her a gruff nod—not respect, but not the obvious derision he’d been treating her to, either—the rest of the picture came into focus.

He was sizing her up, seeing if she was the real deal. Ginny knew that if she were a man, no one would be going to this trouble. They’d just accept that she was on the team and move on with their lives. But, Ginny wasn’t a man and had no real desire to be one, anyway.

Well, she’d show ‘em just what this woman could do.

Over the course of the next few weeks, it seemed like almost every Padre made a point of joining in on one of Ginny’s training sessions.

After Tommy, came most of the bullpen, followed by the position players. By twos and threes, they showed up and tried to hang with Ginny’s grueling workouts. 

They almost never said anything, just joined her on whatever machine she was using and following her rhythm. After the first few times, Ginny took to rolling her eyes and doing her best to ignore them. Even when, almost without fail, each Padre started throwing her incredulous, disbelieving looks as she went through her regimen. Usually, they hit somewhere after the mid-point, when she’d done cardio and legs and moved onto core.  

To be fair, these were all professional athletes, in prime physical condition. Not all professional baseball players had to contend with Mike Lawson’s knees, after all.

Most of them didn’t have much too much trouble keeping up.

Once. 

Very few of her teammates, once they saw with their own eyes that Ginny Baker could keep up with the boys (and often outlast them), decided to subject themselves to another workout. While they didn’t have trouble keeping up, and managed to make it to their lockers and out onto the field with dignity, Ginny saw the way they would wince and mince their way through warm ups the next day. And, sometimes, even the day after.

What? Lactic acid’s a bitch.

She never said anything about it, didn’t want to step on any toes or crush any manly pride, but she did take a certain amount of pleasure in efficiently and quietly shutting down the idle chatter. No one joked about her needing smaller weights or whether or not she knew how to use the machines. They weren’t funny to begin with, but were just sad in the face of Ginny’s utter competence.

Outwardly, though, Ginny kept her head down and went about her routine, fluid and easy as anything. 

Funnily enough, that seemed to make the guys more eager to work out alongside her.

Sure, everyone gave up on trying to match her pace, but more and more Padres started showing up in the training suite when Ginny was there. 

Blip laughingly called it her office hours. 

Though she hadn’t gone to college, Ginny could see the validity of the comparison. 

It started out small. 

“Hey, Baker.”

Ginny cocked her head toward the voice, though she didn’t want to turn and risk tripping on the whirring treadmill. “Yeah?”

Stubbs came to lean up against the front panel of her machine. She punched the speed down so she could walk and talk. If it also meant her breasts weren’t bouncing quite as much and the left fielder would have fewer problems keeping his eyes trained on her face, that was just a bonus. 

“I wondered you might have some ideas about how to get my shoulder to loosen up. I’ve done all the usual shit and nothing’s worked. Sanders said you used to have all these weird tricks to stay warm, so any thoughts.”

Ginny powered down the treadmill and frowned in thought. It didn’t matter that there was an entire staff of trainers who were paid to solve these kinds of problems. Stubbs came to _her_. 

Pushing down the flutter of pride, Ginny showed him a couple of the stretches she used after games. She wouldn’t count yoga as a “weird trick,” but some guys could be so weird about yoga. 

She was in the middle of showing him a stretch using the wall as an anchor and a bend of the hips to elongate the spine and release tension when someone cleared their throat near the door. 

Ginny straightened and turned to see Mike Lawson, arms crossed over his chest and practically glowering. 

“Don’t you have some long toss to do, Stubbs?”

Stubbs swallowed and agreed. Before he left, though, he said, “Thanks, Baker.”

“No problem,” Ginny returned, though she was busier trying to decide if she should finish her run or just move onto weights. 

“What was that about?” Mike asked after a long silence. Honestly, she’d almost forgotten that he was there. She’d started her second set of squats and everything. 

“He asked if I knew any good shoulder stretches. I did. I showed him some.” Carefully, Ginny racked her barbell and turned to face her captain. He was still frowning, though that did just seem to be the way his face worked most days. “That a problem?”

“Isn’t that what we have a team of trainers for?”

She shrugged, unwilling to say she’d had the same thought. “He came to me, Lawson. What’d you want me to do, tell him to fuck off?”

The look on her captain’s face suggested that was exactly what he would have said, but he didn’t bother to verbalize it. Finally, he said. “Whatever. Just don’t make it a habit.”

Of course, she did.

Padres would wander in and pose questions about routine or diet or cool downs, and Ginny would answer, usually without even breaking her stride. 

If she also goaded her teammates into putting in some work on a treadmill or the rowing machine—after all, they were already there—she figured it would only benefit the team in the end.

So, Ginny got used to sharing her morning workouts with more than a grouchy catcher. Mike Lawson was the only one whose presence was a given. If he became slightly grouchier the more others intruded on their routines, Ginny figured that was just the way he was. Showing affection through general grumpiness. 

“Seems like you’ve got a fan club, rookie,” he grumbled one morning in July 

Ginny looked around at the fuller than usual weight room. Aside from her and Mike, Salvamini, Voorhies, Ellis, and Butch had all rolled out of bed to hit the gym this morning. Even Livan was off on the elliptical in the other room. 

She’d been trading tips on joint health with Butch for the past ten minutes. Ten minutes in which she hadn’t been paying attention to her prima donna of a captain. Clearly, it was rankling him.

“Sure they’re not here for the pleasure of your company, Lawson?” she tossed back, earning a snort from Dusty and Sal. 

“Excuse you, I’m a goddamn delight,” Mike grunted, finishing out his set of squats. 

Ginny wouldn’t argue because it was true. Though Mike Lawson definitely wasn’t the man she’d built up in her head, she couldn’t imagine doing this without him. 

What she said was, “Keep telling yourself that, old man.”

After all, she couldn’t let it get to his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a li'l quickie because I was too sad about the Padres potentially not respecting Ginny. So I kind of glossed over that one. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone is having an excellent holiday/winter season (unless you're in the southern hemisphere, then it's summer and you can #getrekt. seriously, i'm so cold all the time)!


	19. allow me the influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> romanceisreal prompted: Mike takes their kid(s?) to a game that Ginny's pitching and narrates the whole thing for them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: kid!fic, dad!Mike, Evelyn/Mike brotp, future!fic
> 
> chapter title: Cal Ripken, Jr. quote about loving baseball

“Auntie Ev!” 

Evelyn Sanders had been trying to convince Gabe to put his phone away for two minutes. Marcus, at least, was busy staring at Daniella Arguella in something akin to awe. Not that Dani, as a newly minted college freshman, noticed. 

At the sound of that familiar voice, though, she turned away from her progeny.

Just in time for a a rogue toddler to barrel into her shins. 

“Miss Ruby,” Evelyn greeted with a grin, swooping down to scoop up the four-year-old escape artist. The little girl in her arms giggled, dimples on display. “Where did you come from?”

“My house!” she declared proudly, throwing her arms wide. Even Evelyn’s surly teenage boys had to crack a smile at her exuberance. 

Daniella drifted over, making silly faces to keep Ruby giggling. “Your house? But how did you get here, then?”

“Daddy!” It was both an answer and a greeting.

“Ruby! How many times do I have to tell you not to run ahead?” scolded the man in question. Evelyn pivoted back to the suite’s door so both she and Ruby could take in Mike Lawson. 

Well, Mike Lawson and the newest Baker-Lawson. 

At 45, Mike wasn’t a typical house husband, though with a baby strapped to his chest and a diaper bag dangling off his shoulder, he certainly looked the part. 

He also looked happier than Evelyn could remember seeing him. Even when he was particularly exasperated with his eldest. 

“Too slow, daddy!” Ruby protested. Her chubby little arms crossed over her chest and she pouted. 

Clearly the girl already had her father wrapped around her little finger because Mike positively melted. 

If Evelyn weren’t entirely too familiar with the scene, she’d melt herself. As it was, she rolled her eyes fondly and followed Mike and baby Christine out to a table out on the narrow patio outside the Padres Suite. 

The view of the field was breathtaking. Verdant grass under an endless, April sky. 

And soon, there would be some Padres kicking ass out there. 

Specifically, Evelyn was excited to see Ginny finally take the mound at Petco after her maternity leave. And against the Cardinals, no less. Trevor Davis and Theo Falcone didn’t even play for the team anymore, but Evelyn had spent a long time stoking her hatred; she wasn’t gonna give it up for something as inconsequential as the team roster.

Hopefully, if there was a dust up this time, Blip wouldn’t be so afraid of getting his hands dirty. Captain had to step up for his team, after all. 

As she and Mike settled in, Ruby wiggled in Evelyn’s arms. 

“Down, please,” she requested, still wriggling to get her point across. 

Evelyn released her and the girl bolted for Mike. She climbed up into his lap, careful not to lean against the baby in her carrier. Mike ran a fond hand over his daughter’s curly head, but Ruby’s attention was on the field below. 

“That’s not mommy!” she cried in outrage, pointing as some businessman threw out the first pitch. 

“No,” Mike explained calmly, “that one was just for show. Like practice.”

Ruby was still indignant. “That’s mommy’s job! He can’t take it! That’s not nice.”

“He’s not _taking_ it,” came a new voice. Daniella had followed them out onto the private deck, apparently finding the young Baker-Lawsons far more interesting than the other WAGs and kids. “Your mom is sharing. Sharing is nice, right?”

Ruby looked doubtful, thinking over this explanation. Eventually, she peered up at Mike for confirmation. He smiled down at her, sweet and absolutely, completely smitten with his daughter. 

“That’s right, bub. Mom’s just sharing for now. She’ll come take over soon.”

The little girl still looked suspicious, but she took her father’s word for it and settled in to watch. 

Sure enough, a handful of minutes later, Ginny Baker came striding out of the bullpen to take the mound. Before she set for her first pitch, she looked straight up to where Mike and Evelyn and Ruby and Christine are sitting and blew a kiss. A collective “Aww,” went up around the stadium, but that was nothing compared to the love it got up in the Padres Suite. 

Ruby eagerly snatched her mom’s kiss out of the air and began blowing her own back. Mike just laughed and wrapped an arm around his daughter’s waist so she didn’t bounce straight to the ground. 

Christine gurgled softly in her carrier. 

When it became clear that, while she wanted to pay attention, Ruby didn’t fully understand what was going on, Mike took up a running commentary of the game. After all, it practically had been his job before he hung up his tie and dedicated himself to being a stay at home dad. 

He even drew something of a crowd. 

Daniella, who’d definitely been hanging around because she thought the babies were cute, settled in and starting peppering Mike with as many questions as Ruby did. This drew Marcus over and eventually Gabe, too, feeling abandoned inside the suite. Soon enough, Mike had collected a gaggle of his former teammates’ children and looked utterly at ease delivering the play-by-play. 

Surreptitiously, Evelyn snapped a picture and texted it to Ginny. And Blip. The whole team, actually. They definitely deserved to see what had become of their illustrious, former captain.

“See,” he pointed out, oblivious to everyone but his crowd of adolescent fans. “She shook him off because he asked for her cutter and she knew it was a stu— _bad_  call.” 

“Why was it a bad call?” asked one of Salvamini’s kids. Evelyn could tell because they basically had the same haircut. 

“Well, that batter’s been eating up outside breaking balls all spring training. He’s already hit two homers off of ‘em this season,” he explained, glancing down at the boy, but keeping his focus on his wife. “Which Livan would know if he bothered to read his damn scouting reports.” 

That was muttered, just loud enough for Evelyn to hear.

“No one likes a backseat catcher, Lawson,” she teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” he snarked, too busy pressing a kiss to Christine’s head to put much heat in his reply.

Of course, he was just waiting to return the favor. 

When, in the bottom of the eighth, Blip got called out at home, leaving the Padres tied 2-2 going into the ninth, Evelyn was out of her chair in a shot. 

“Are you kidding me?” she cried at the home plate ump. “Are you blind! The throw was behind him!”

Evelyn continued to hurl her abuse at the ump, thankfully echoed by thousands of loyal Padres fans. Behind her, she vaguely was aware Mike was still narrating, but she had other things to deal with. 

“Ah, look, kids! Here is the time-honored baseball tradition of yelling at the umpire when he makes a call you don’t like. Notice how she doesn’t care that he can’t possibly hear her, she’s gonna say what she has to say.”

Okay, Evelyn definitely heard _that._  

Turning back to the table, she caught sight of Gabe and Marcus, cringing in teenage embarrassment. Everyone else, Mike Lawson included, looked suitably impressed with the display. 

Primly, she took her seat again, watching as the Padres reliever took the mound for the last inning. 

“Daddy,” came a loud whisper from the other side of the table. Ruby turned and tugged on Mike’s beard for attention. 

He didn’t dislodge her pudgy fist, just smiled down at her. “Yeah, bub?”

“Wanna be like Auntie Ev when I grow up.”

“Who doesn’t?”

_Smart man that Mike Lawson,_ Evelyn thought with a fond smile. _Happy, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Mike as a stay at home dad/child magnet. I also love him being the only man in the house. This was such a cute little prompt, so thank you!!
> 
> This is the second week I've missed out on Sinning Sunday, which is weird. Does it count that smut had to happen to get those kids? No? Well, next week.
> 
> Anyway, what'd you think of the names? Ruby was just cute, but there was a reason for Christine, complete with a headcanon about Mike's insistence on it... Let me know! In the comments or over on [tumblr!](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


	20. now we're partners in crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, back when I first posted [situation: lost control](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19705717), several people asked for a continuation and I told someone I would, but I am terrible, so this has been sitting in my drafts since November. my bad, my bad. here it is now at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Mike Lawson and his incredibly low self-esteem, over-thinking. just so much over-thinking, Ginny Baker is probably better than all of us, arguably too much internal dialogue
> 
> chapter title: "Waking Up In Vegas" by Katy Perry

In retrospect, Mike probably shouldn’t have been the one to say, “What’s yours is mine,” because he definitely has more in the “mine” column than Ginny. After all, he’s a veteran catcher who’s only played for one team in his career. He’s put down roots in San Diego and, for people, roots mean collecting _stuff_. 

Sure, his house is some kind of minimalist wet dream, but that’s what storage facilities are for. And closets. Even glass houses have closets.

Ginny, on the other hand, hasn’t lived in the Omni for years, but Mike’s not sure that she’s actually put any kind of personal touch on the bungalow she rents up in Encinitas. Not that he’s been there that often, it’s just that the only things Ginny can seem to collect contain high-performance lycra.

Which Mike is more than happy to leave to Ginny. It’s a good look on her. Not so much on him.

All of this isn’t to say that he wouldn’t give her anything and everything she ever asked of him. Just. His divorce lawyer would probably kill him.

So, it’s a good thing that since the _incident_ —which is the only way he can think of getting not-married in Vegas without losing his mind—Ginny’d only seemed to be interested in taking his peace and quiet.

Come to think of it, Ginny’s been over at his house so often, Mike has to wonder about what kind of cobwebs are collecting in that bungalow.

Not that he’s complaining. If Ginny wants to hang out with him, that’s fine. More than fine, if he’s being honest. And Mike makes it a point to rarely be honest about his feelings for Ginny Baker.

Because she still thinks they’re married.

And, yes, he’s had more than enough time to fix that particular misconception. He just hasn’t. Because he likes having her around all the time. He likes watching basketball on the couch with her and flipping through the newspaper with her feet in his lap. He likes having her around, and he’s pretty sure that will happen way less when she finds out he’s been lying to her for nearly a month.

Or, as good as lying, anyway. She’d asked about annulment procedures at some point on the bus ride back and he’d said they needed a marriage license to start, which was technically the truth. That there is no marriage license made out to Michael Lawson and Genevieve Baker didn’t have much effect on legal proceedings in the state of California.

Otherwise, she’s been pretty quiet on the subject. Unless Mike counted her endless, terrible jokes. Calling him Mr. Baker and telling him which pieces of furniture he has to leave her in the divorce. 

He’s pretty sure she won’t find it quite so funny when she learns the truth, which is why he can never bring himself to laugh with her when she goes on a roll.

 _Jesus_ , _how did my life come to this?_ Mike thinks as he pushes inside his house, laden with groceries. Of course, it’s not enough that Ginny’s invaded his space, she has to eat her way through his pantry, too. Though, it is at least comforting to know that she’s not starving. If he left her to her own devices, Mike’s pretty sure she might forget some days, especially since she trains less in the off season.

As far as he’s been able to tell, Ginny tends to embrace the “off” of off season, lazing around on the nearest flat surface. The number of times he’s come home since Vegas (and even before, if he’s honest) to find her snoozing on the couch or floating in the pool has gotten ridiculous.

She’s often around when he’d left the house, too, though.

Not today. He’d considered waiting for her to show up before going to the grocery store. Even considered calling her and asking her to come with, but told himself to stop being such a sap. It doesn’t matter that running errands with Ginny was more fun, he doesn’t _need_  her around to accomplish everyday tasks. 

That he _wants_  her around is a given.

Mike fishes an apple out of the bag before putting the rest in the crisper. He takes a bite and glances out to his pool deck on the off chance that Ginny’s out there now.

He nearly chokes.

Ginny Baker had definitely gone for a swim while he was out. He can see droplets of water still gleaming on her skin. But currently, she’s spread out on her stomach, basking in the early afternoon sun.

In and of itself, it’s not so unusual. Mike would even say that he’s gotten pretty used to seeing her traipse around his house in her swimsuits. And yoga gear. And even his own clothes sometimes. (The reaction he’d had the first time he’d seen one of his plaid button ups wrapped around her lithe frame was eerily similar to the one he’s having now.) As used to it as a man can be without also having seen what’s underneath those swimsuits. Which is not at all a helpful thought.

Because Mike’s pretty sure Ginny’s not currently wearing one.

 _Why is she always naked when I’m least expecting it?_ he thinks miserably as his forehead thunks against the granite countertop.

Mike’s not sure if he should go out and let her know he’s here or stay here with his forehead pressed to the counter where he can’t see anything for the foreseeable future.

Then, an image of Ginny sauntering into his house with no shirt on floods his imagination. In his imagination, the idea is thoroughly appealing because he’d already be intimately familiar with all that skin and could put his hands and mouth on her the way he’s been aching to do for months. Years, even. 

In real life, though, Mike wouldn’t be able to do anything other than turn away and point her towards a towel.

Wouldn’t be _allowed_ to do anything else.

Because, as much time as he and Ginny have been spending with each other, he’s still not sure that she actually wants anything more. There was that moment, years ago, but almost nothing since then. Nothing as clear as that moment outside Boardner’s, anyway. No grand, romantic gestures, just an alarming decrease in personal space. They flirt, they tease, sure, but that’s just the way Baker and Lawson operate. They’re best friends and that’s enough. Enough that Mike hasn’t managed to screw up and tip his hand, at the very least.

Unless, of course, he counts deciding to elope in Vegas as tipping his hand.

And that’s the other thing. Mike can’t make a move while Ginny still thinks that they’re married. It’s created an unearned sense of intimacy. They spend practically all their time together now, and have been ever since they got back to San Diego. It’s like Ginny thinks they have to spend all their time together. What if she’s started developing feelings for him just because of that? How big of a creep would he be to capitalize on that? It’s beyond sketchy to make a move while Ginny’s operating under false pretenses. 

Mike would never forgive himself if he let himself do that to her. He’s not sure he can forgive himself with the way things stand now.

So, he’s told himself that he’s not allowed to even think about kissing Ginny Baker until she knows the truth. (It hasn’t really worked out for him, but he always feels guilty as hell and guilt is a great motivator.)

Although the sight of Ginny sprawled out next to his pool might be an even better one. It’s been nothing short of a miracle that he’s managed to keep his hands to himself in the past month. Seeing her like this might break him.

Deciding to face the music, Mike lifts his head from the counter, abandons his apple, and heads out to the pool.

“Hey, Baker, you dead?” he calls on the approach, unwilling to startle her and potentially see something he shouldn’t. 

She shifts, laughing low and hoarse and _thank fuck._ She’s wearing bikini bottoms. There’s a slight metallic sheen to them, but otherwise practically blend into her skin.

Mike’s trying to decide if he wants to kiss or kill the person who decided on that particular color for swimwear when Ginny shifts again and cranes her head around to look at him.

Her forearm presses the front of her bikini top to her chest, and Mike catches sight of the loose strings curled on the ground.

“Is that really the first question you ask when you find a woman laying out by your pool?” she snarks, squinting up at him.

“Yeah,” is his immediate reply, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat. “To be fair, though, last time she really was dead.”

That earns a sharp bark of laughter and Mike’s gotten used to the way it always makes him puff up with pride. He’s stopped feeling embarrassed by now.

Ginny levers herself up, somehow managing to keep her breasts covered. Which is a good thing, Mike tells himself firmly. He’s come to the conclusion that he really only wants to see Ginny Baker naked when he’s in a position to do something about it. And as long as she’s operating under the belief that they’re married, Mike’s decidedly _not_ in a position to do anything about the way Ginny makes him feel.

Aside from telling her the truth, of course.

There’s no way he’s not going to hell for this.

“Where’d you hide the body?” 

Her question knocks him right out of the thought process he’s gone over and over for weeks on end. Thankfully, the answer requires no thought at all. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Ginny groans at the bad joke, but Mike’s attention is taken up with the way she twists her arms behind her back to tie her top closed.

Fully covered—technically—Ginny makes for no less of a striking sight than she did scant minutes earlier. She unfolds herself, climbing to her feet and Mike isn’t sure where to look with the practical miles of skin on display. Her curly, unruly hair doesn’t even offer any coverage, piled messily on top of her head as it is.

No, it’s just Ginny, sun warm and practically glowing as she rolls her eyes at his terrible joke.

If they were really married, this is where he’d lean in and kiss her, let his hands wander over every inch of her, frankly, outrageous body. It wouldn’t be a surprise, but Mike can’t imagine ever getting to the point where he’s not stunned by Ginny, even in a universe where they’ve been married for years. It’s just not possible.

Of course, they’re not married, so Mike jerks his head toward the house, even as he makes the decision: he has to tell her. Today.

“You eaten lunch, yet?”

“And mess with the Lawson Organizational System?” she teases. “Definitely not.”

Mike grumbles as he leads his way into the kitchen. _You have to tell her. You can’t go another day without telling her how you feel._ “Not my fault you never had to take Home Ec, Baker.”

“Oh, please.” She hip checks him and Mike is torn between being unspeakably grateful and annoyed that he’s fully clothed and Ginny is... not. He settles for sticking his head in the refrigerator, hoping to cool down, thoughts racing. “It’s not like they made guys take Home Ec while you were in high school. When was that again? Back in the 50s?”

“I don’t have to make you lunch, you know,” he grumbles, even as he takes out sandwich fixings. _You have to tell her. You have to tell her._ _You have to tell her._  “I don’t even have to let you in my house.”

“Hey, what’s yours is mine, Lawson,” Ginny points out, boosting herself up onto the counter next to him and picking up his abandoned apple. She raises her eyebrows at the single bite taken out of it, but shrugs and adds her own.

Mike keeps his eyes firmly on the cutting board where he’s slicing up a cucumber. If he doesn’t, there’s a very good chance he’ll get distracted and end up slicing off his thumb or something. He’d never live it down.

“About that,” he says, hardly believing the words as they come out of his mouth. How many times had he resolved to tell her only to chicken out? 

Not today.

“About what?” Ginny asks around a chunk of apple, cheeks full. He flicks an exasperated look at her but she just shrugs impishly and Mike has to look away from the way her breasts bounce slightly with the movement. 

_You’re going to hell. You’re going to hell. You’re going to hell_.

_You have to tell her. You have to tell her. You have to tell her._

“The whole married thing.”

“What whole married thing?”

God, she’s a brat. “Vegas,” he sighs, feeling like he might throw up because he’s not sure how mad she’s going to be. He’s seen Ginny pretty fucking angry, but it’s never been directed just at him. This will be. Still, Mike moves on to carving off slices of cheese from the block, hating the way his palms sweat as the moment of truth approaches.

“Ah. What about it?”

“Well,” he says, wincing and wishing he’d chosen a better moment, but in too deep to back out now, “we aren’t.”

“Huh?”

* * *

It hadn’t taken Ginny long to get used to the idea of being married to Mike. Honestly, by the time they got off the bus from Vegas, she’d adjusted. Sure, they would be nothing like a regular couple, but they were close already. Best friends, practically. Being married wouldn’t really change anything. They wouldn’t live together or kiss or any of the other things most married people do.

(Sex. Ginny meant sex. She might as well be honest about it to herself if no one else.

Really, it wasn’t her fault that it had been a while since she’d last had any. Trying to win the World Series was more than a full time job, thank you very much. Being in love with her captain didn’t help matters. It was hard to fall in bed with someone else when she knew there was someone else she wanted more.)

If, somehow, being married got her closer to crossing that line with Mike, Ginny wasn’t going to complain.

Before she could even come up with a good plan to make that happen, though, Evelyn waded in.

Ginny’d barely been back in her little, rented beach shack for 20 minutes before the banging on her door started. She’d groaned, wondering if she should pop some more Advil before dealing with her visitor. Funnily enough, sleeping on a moving vehicle with a hangover wasn’t the easiest thing and definitely didn’t actually do anything for the cloud of tequila-regret hazing her every thought. Ginny had been looking forward to a long nap in an actual bed.

Still, when a familiar voice called, “I know you’re in there, Ginny Baker! Open the damn door!” Ginny couldn’t very well ignore it.

“Ev,” she’d sighed, slumping against the door as pitifully as possible, “can we do this later?”

“Yeah, no,” her friend had replied, pushing a bottle of champagne into Ginny’s arms as she breezed into the bungalow. She’d dropped straight onto the couch and leveled Ginny with a mischievous look. “I hear congratulations are in order,” she’d grinned, patting the couch expectantly. “So, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I need to pull it out of you?”

 _Play it cool, Baker_ , Ginny’d commanded herself, gingerly shutting the door and shuffling over to Evelyn. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” she’d tried to no great effect.

No great effect, of course, meaning a truly unimpressed stare from Evelyn. So, she’d caved.

“I’m sorry, Ev. It would have been nice if you could have been there, instead of just the guys. Not that I really remember any of it, but I’m sure I would have appreciated it. Forgive me?”

“Uh, sure. I mean,” here, she leveled Ginny with a stern look, “if you’d _actually_ gotten married, this would be a very different conversation. Just know that when you have a real wedding, I will be there and my maid of honor dress will be beautiful.”

There was something in her tone that suggested more than just Evelyn’s disdain for a rushed, unplanned Vegas elopement when she said “actually.” Ginny nodded silently in agreement as she puzzled it over, head throbbing with the effort.

“Thank God for my husband managing to keep his head on straight and making sure everything was strictly ceremonial.” Evelyn rolled her eyes fondly and continued, “I mean it’s one thing for you not to think of a marriage license, but Mike’s been married before, he knows the deal. Blip definitely earned his welcome home. If you catch my drift.”

“Yeah,” Ginny’d murmured, ignoring Evelyn’s waggling eyebrows as her brain finally caught up with the conversation. She wasn’t married. How strange was it that the thought sent a pang through her chest? “Thank God for Blip.”

 _It should be a relief_ , was all Ginny could think when Evelyn finally left her in peace. It was all she can think for the next few days, in fact. 

She’s never quite managed to convince herself that it’s the truth.

For his part, this is the first time Mike has brought up their non-elopement, and it’s been a month. 

Ginny sits frozen on the counter as she takes in what he’s saying, brow furrowing in thought.

 _“_ Well, we aren’t,” he says, like this is new information. Like he’s trying to let her down easy.

Which, what?

It took her a while to get over the fact that he’d left that news for someone else to break to her, but Ginny eventually understood Mike’s silence on the matter to mean that he finds it too embarrassing to discuss. Which is an inclination she can sympathize with, even if she finds the situation funnier than not. 

She is grateful that she hadn’t called Amelia on the bus, though. How mortifying would it have been to tell her agent about the colossal fuck up she’d made and arrive back in San Diego to Amelia and the team of lawyers she certainly would have hired, only to have to tell her, “Just kidding! We somehow managed to screw up a Vegas elopement!”

Yeah, that would have gone over well.

Sometimes, to test her theory about Mike’s embarrassment, she’d bring it up as a joke, call him Mr. Baker or take half his sandwich and tell him he shouldn’t have married her if he didn’t want this happening when he tried to protest. Without fail, he’d wince and get moody with her for a while. Classic Lawson mortification.

Which would have been fine if he didn’t also get moody and grumpy when she tried to pull back and give him some space. 

Ginny has her suspicions about it all, but it doesn’t feel like the kind of thing that she can just come out and _ask_. 

“Hey, are you by any chance in love with me? Because I love you. I’ll even forgive you for making Evelyn tell me we’re not married if you consider resolving this sexual tension between us immediately and then promising to love me forever,” just doesn’t strike the right tone, she think.

Even if it’s true.

And she is increasingly sure that it _is_ true. Especially as she takes his odd, guilty look and this confession into account and adds it to everything else she’s observed over the past month.

Like, when he doesn’t think she's paying attention, Mike will look at her like he's in awe. Not the awe of her fans, who see her more as some untouchable marker, but awe of _her_. Just Ginny. Much as it warms her, it makes her fidget and wish that he’d just _say something._  But if wishing made things so, Ginny’d have a much better WHIP and probably like four puppies. But she doesn’t and her wishes go unfulfilled. 

Not that she stops suspecting that maybe Mike feels _something_  for her, at least a little bit, too.

And not just because they went and tried to get married.

But that is definitely part of it.

By this point, splashes of memory from that night in Vegas have come back to her: Mike’s arm wrapped around her waist, his beard catching in her hair, his gaze heavy and longing. All before anyone even mentioned a wedding chapel. Honestly, it felt like their everyday interactions, just less guarded and more honest. Ginny was pretty sure she has the tequila to thank on that front. She’s absolutely sure that it hadn’t taken much convincing to get send them careening down the aisle, though. 

She thinks that he even kissed her at some point. 

Not the smack she’d laid on his cheek in the chapel. Not with their hooting and hollering teammates for witnesses. No, much later, after they’d shaken off the entourage and stumbled back to her room. 

It’s hazy, even after weeks of trying to fill in what happened before and after, but still detailed enough to make her burn with remembering. 

She’d collapsed with her back against the wall, safely tucked in her room, and not questioning Mike’s presence. After all, he was her _husband._  She’d just stood there, grinning tipsily up at him. He’d grinned back, picking up her left hand and rubbing his thumb over his ring on her finger. 

“Mrs. Lawson,” he’d breathed, rocking into her space. It didn’t matter if it was a drunken sway or a deliberate move, Ginny’s breath hitched. His other hand found her hip and she was so happy that they were anchored together against the spin of the room.

Her free hand inched up his chest to rest on his shoulder. “Only if that makes you Mr. Baker,” she’d replied, giggling at the thought of flirting with her husband. This, or something like it, was what she’d wanted for so long and he was finally _hers_. 

“Yeah,” he’d grinned, looming a little closer and smile splitting wider when Ginny’s head thunked against the wall as she tracked the movement, “I can do that.”

And then, he kissed her.

When the memory came, she’d been trying to fall asleep, somewhere on the edge of consciousness and oblivion. In a flash, she’d bolted upright, half sure that she’d just woken herself up from a dream fueled by wishful thinking. But the soft prickle of his beard against her face and the pressure of his fingertips on her hips were too vivid to have come just from dreaming.

But once she remembered, Ginny couldn’t stop thinking about it, blushing nearly every time Mike touched her, thrown back into that Vegas hotel room.

Which is a problem. Because she and Mike are practically always touching each other; easy, casual affection between friends and teammates.

(Ginny is so used to not thinking about how she isn’t nearly as affectionate with her other teammates, that it’s strange to realize it doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter that she thinks of Mike differently now. He’s retired.)

Just, this time, it had led to them getting married.

Almost married.

Whatever.

In all honesty, she’s not sure if talking about it is going to help, though Mike has apparently made up his mind on the subject. They’ve gotten along pretty well without talking about it, in all fairness, but nothing’s really changed. Aside from an awareness that if things had gone slightly differently, she could actually be entitled to half his stuff. Not just in the jokes she tosses out to test the waters every so often.

Tests that inevitably meet with a surly Mike and an exasperated Ginny.

Of course, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that Mike Lawson doesn’t process emotions like any other human being. She’s known him for years. He’s a disaster when it comes to emotions. It isn’t as if the man was a fully grown adult or anything.

Well, it isn’t as if Ginny’s going to let something as insignificant as a non-wedding get in the way of what she wants. 

And she wants Mike Lawson. 

Even with her nearly bare ass seated on his kitchen counter, mouth half-full of apple and with him staring her down like he’s just admitted to kicking a puppy, she wants him. 

Ginny swallows and wonders what she’s missing and how they got there.

Well, she can answer half of that, at least.

It started out pretty simply, actually. She’d figured that the more time she spent with him, the more time Mike had to get over himself and finally make a move on her. A move that would end with them in a relationship. The way they’d both wanted for years now, but hadn’t acted on out of professionalism. She’d do it herself, but Mike was the one being weird. Clearly, he had some things to figure out before they could really do this.

That had been easy enough; she already spent an inordinate amount of time with him. She’d never bothered to buy property and put down real (estate) roots in San Diego since she’d already had Mike’s house at her disposal. It had a pool and an air hockey table, a fully stocked fridge, and a whole cable package that Ginny was pretty sure Mike only subscribed to for the extra ESPN coverage. 

Why would she buy her own house when she had all that?

That it also came complete with the man she was in love with was only a bonus.

(Really, it was a wonder she hadn’t gotten drunk and tried to elope with him before this.)

Unfortunately, Mike had taken her increased presence in his house entirely in stride. He’d come back from errands to find her on his couch and simply make her lift up her legs so he could sit, too. She’d show up with take out and another movie she’d never seen and he’d figure out the DVD player he’d somehow never used. 

All that changed was more frequent trips to the grocery store. He’d started dragging her along on those, though, claiming that if she was going to complain about his snacks, she might as well just pick them out herself. 

Running errands with Mike was disgustingly domestic. Ginny went every chance she could. Even though Ginny knew they weren’t married and Mike knew they weren’t married, it still felt like they were, or could be at least. They’d tease and joke their way through the aisles, giggling like kids and drawing their fair share of indulgent smiles and shocked recognition. Mostly, all it took was a conspiratorial smile and they were left alone. Everyone liked feeling like they were in on a secret.

It was nice. 

Unfortunately, nice hadn’t gotten Mike Lawson to make a move.

Neither had early morning yoga by the pool. Or stealing his clothes and wearing them more than hers. Or essentially refusing to leave his house; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been back to the bungalow for more than a change of clothes. 

(Ginny’s at her wit’s end. How has  _nothing_  worked? The only thing that the passing weeks have done is deepen her suspicion—and, really, that’s all it is: a _suspicion_ —that Mike feels the same way about her that she feels about him. 

It’s a million things, the way he’ll give her a moon-eyed stare before laughing at a joke, the way he always saves the last potsticker for her, the way he’ll rub her feet without her even asking. 

She suspects he knows it, too, but something is holding him back, and Ginny isn’t sure how much longer she can go without pressing him into a wall and having her way with him.

But she wants to know what’s going on in his head first.)

Of course it’s this fucking bikini that gets him to break. 

Evelyn had thrust it into her arms the last time they’d gone shopping. 

Ginny’d taken one look at the shimmering bronze and looked back at her friend skeptically.

“Trust me,” Evelyn grinned.

And Ginny has never been more grateful that she did. 

From the first flash of desire that crossed Mike’s face when she looked up at him to the way that he’s carefully looking away from her, Ginny’d known that Evelyn was right. 

What else is new?

So, of course it’s the skimpy bronze bikini that’s the straw to break Mike Lawson’s back. The thing that finally gets him to make a move. Not that this really seems like Mike trying to make a move. 

It seems more like Mike confessing his sins.

“We aren’t,” he repeats, like that means something on its own, though pieces start to come together in her mind and a hazy theory begins to form. Mike purposefully lays the knife down and leans heavily on the counter, his shoulders hunching around his ears.

“We aren’t what?” 

Mike sighs and scrubs a hand over his beard. He leaves the bristles sticking every which way and Ginny has the sudden urge to smooth them back into place. She doesn’t, unsure of whether or not she’ll ever get the full story if she puts her hands on him now.

“Married,” he admits, hardly loud enough for her to hear.

Ginny stares. Of course they aren’t married. Does he not realize that she knows that? He looks guilty as hell, which pretty much answers it for her. 

 _Oh, he’s gonna pay for that._  

Ginny makes her eyes go wide and her lips part in shock. Mike looks even more pained and she feels more sympathy than self-righteousness at the wince. She doesn’t say anything, though, waits to see what kind of explanation he can have for this, thoughts racing and heart pounding.

“I’m so sorry. I should have told you right away, just—” he scrubs his hand over his face again. _Why does he keep messing with the beard?_ she thinks distantly. “Do you know how hard it is for me to think straight around you? Sometimes, you’ll smile at me and every conscious thought I have falls straight out of my head.”

Finally, he looks her in the eyes and there is so much guilt and distress in his, it almost overshadows the hope. Ginny’s breath catches in her throat.

“At first, I was so sure that I’d tell you the next time I saw you, but I never did. And the longer it went on, the harder it became to potentially give up this.”

“This?” she asks, voice inexplicably hoarse.

He laughs, dry and a little dark. “This. Me coming home and finding you somewhere in the house, like you belong here. Because you do belong here. And I can’t believe that I’ve maybe ruined it all by keeping my stupid mouth shut for so long. I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

How ridiculous is it that this is actually making her _sad_? She’s known that they weren’t married for a month, but Mike looks so absolutely wretched as he tells her. His head hangs low and her heartstrings pull for him. 

Even though he’s apparently been keeping secrets from her. Or thinks he has. 

Jesus, this is confusing. 

He looks so worried that Ginny drops her act, shrugging casually and swiping a slice of cucumber from the cutting board. “Yeah, I knew we weren’t actually married, old man.”

Silence reigns in the kitchen for a moment. 

Mike opens his mouth. Closes it. Clears his throat and finally says, “What.”

“I knew that we didn’t get married. Evelyn told me right after we got back from Vegas."

“Evelyn.”

“Told me, yes. Although I think she thought I already knew.” He’s still staring at her in disbelief and Ginny rolls her eyes. “Help me out here, Mike. What part are you having trouble with?”

“That you’re still here.”

A pang tears its way to her heart. Even in the face of her annoyance, Ginny can’t stand to see Mike look so utterly ashamed. He won’t even look at her, stares instead at his hands gripping the granite countertop. Gently, she loosens the grip of his near hand and threads her fingers with his. She tugs. Tugs until he uproots himself and drifts to stand before her. 

She scoots forward and tenderly brushes his beard back into order, ignoring the way Mike finally raises his eyes to stare at her. She’s aware of it, though. Aware of the way her knees bracket his hips and just how little she’s wearing as his body heat leeches against her skin. She’s aware of the fact that she’s already forgiven him and will probably laugh about this much sooner than he will. 

She’s aware that she loves him and is finally sure he loves her, too.

“Of course I’m still here,” she says, patting his cheek with a smile. “I haven’t had a chance to take you for all you’re worth yet.”

He narrows his eyes at her, but Ginny knows he’s smothering the smirk that wants to curl over his mouth. Tentatively, his big hands settle on her legs and Ginny smiles her encouragement. Like that, his palms glide up the bare skin and she has to bite her lip to hold in the sigh that wants to escape.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he murmurs, following the trajectory of his hands and leaning into her.

“It means you’re not getting rid of me until you file for divorce,” she returns, leaning into him, too. 

“That might be tricky,” he points out, finally grinning, “since we’re not married.”

“That’s all right. I’ll wait.”

And then, she kisses him.

And this time, she remembers everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk friends. I've been tinkering with the outline for this since November and finally buckled down to write it. Usually I try to get most of the writing done in one sitting, but that didn't happen this time and I feel like it shows. Like it reads as really disconnected to me. Maybe it's all the tense changes :p
> 
> Anyway, I would love any thoughts that you have on this because I don't know what to think. I'm happy to follow your lead, here. thanks in advance, you are amazing!


	21. sport-like scrutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> misshigherpower: Ginny's pregnancy gets announced by the media before she has a chance to tell Mike, and she's a lot further along than anyone realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: celebrity gossip, pregnancy
> 
> chapter title: Jennifer Aniston is also apparently super annoyed about everyone speculating about the state of her uterus.

If Ginny took a pregnancy test every time a magazine decided to speculate about the state of her uterus, she’d probably have bought stock in the company and made a mint already. 

But this. This was different. 

Staring down at the double page spread, topped with a garish headline (“A Bun in the Oven for Baker?”), Ginny suddenly felt sick to her stomach. It wasn’t just the slight bump each of the photos highlighted, or the fact that she’d been feeling sick to her stomach a lot lately. 

No. This was much worse.

The realization came in flashes:

Weird cravings. (Well, not cravings, but that chocolate peanut butter burger with jalapeños the guys dared her to eat in Arizona months ago hadn’t been nearly as disgusting as she’d thought it would be.)

Crying at the drop of a hat. (Literally. Salvi teasingly knocked her hat off and Ginny’d been hard pressed to keep the tears at bay.)

Spotty periods. (They always were, though. The stress of life in the major leagues, as well as having to spend so much time on the road, was no small thing. Jesus, how long had this been happening? Months and months at least.)

Even the slight weight gain. (Ginny thought it was just a function of too much beer and doing less cardio in the gym and more in bed. Not that she had any complaints on that front.)

Each bit coalesced until the picture was clear, solid in her mind.

Fuck. 

She was pregnant.

Which was what had Ginny practically sprinting through the grocery store to the awful aisle full of tampons and adult diapers and, yes, pregnancy tests. She grabbed one without really looking and rushed back to the checkout line where she’d abandoned her cart and offered the bored, teenage cashier a sheepish smile. The boy looked supremely unimpressed, but finished ringing her up without comment, tossing the box on top of a bundle of kale. 

She managed to convince herself not to start freaking out until she was back home. It wouldn’t do her any good to give in to panic in public or, worse, while she was behind the wheel. One hand unconsciously dropped down to the slight swell of her stomach, and the cashier definitely followed the movement. Jerkily, she pulled her hand away and began rummaging through her wallet and pretending that everything was fine. Hoping that this wouldn’t end up on the internet before she could confirm her suspicions.

As soon as she’d paid, she was out the door and in her car. 

The drive was a blur. Getting inside the house was a blur. Putting away the groceries until only that little, pink box was sitting alone on the kitchen island was a blur. 

It was like time had sped up, washing Ginny along with the current until it could deposit her in the kitchen of her and Mike’s house.

 _Mike_. 

God, what was he going to say?

They'd talked about kids and decided to wait. They’d only just started to be a regular couple, the media circus surrounding their relationship having finally died down to a dull roar after three years. Ginny had only finished her fifth season, was only 29. They had time. 

 _We’d had time_ , Ginny thought, eyeing the box on the counter.  

She considered going about the rest of her day and ignoring the elephant in the room. The bun in the oven. Every time, she took a step out of the kitchen, though, she’d find herself back, contemplating that stupid box, within minutes. 

So, Ginny sighed, snatched it up and went to go pee on a stick in peace. 

Well, that’s what she intended.

“Gin?” Mike’s voice echoed through the house and Ginny cursed his timing. There were still two minutes to go according to the instructions. 

“Yeah?” she called, praying that her voice wouldn’t quake. 

“You see that ESPN is saying you’re pregnant, now? You’ve moved on to the big time, rook. Not just tabloids anymore.”

_Shit._

“Shit!”

“You okay?” Mike’s voice was right outside the shut bathroom door.

“Uh...” What could she say? _I know we decided we weren’t ready for kids, but surprise! We might have to be?_  

“That doesn’t sound okay.” An edge of worry crept into his tone. “I’m gonna come in, all right?”

Ginny didn’t argue, just hid her face in her hands. She didn’t want to see whatever disappointment flashed across his face when he saw the test and figured everything out. But she wasn’t going to hide it from him, either.

There was a long silence and a sharp breath. Ginny tensed as his footsteps came closer, unsure of what she was waiting for. It wasn’t as if Mike would be _mad_. Just confused and maybe resigned. 

“Gin,” he murmured, lowering himself in front of her and grunting as his knees hit the floor. Ginny shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Gently, tenderly, his fingers curled around her wrists. With a soft tug, he coaxed her hands away from her face. He placed them in her lap and reached back up to smooth his thumb over her cheek. “There you are.”

At the wondering note in his voice, Ginny finally looked him in the eye. Mike didn’t waver, didn’t even glance at the strip of plastic sitting innocently on the counter beside her. She leaned into his hand and drew in a deep, shuddery breath. 

“How’re you feeling?”

She huffed out a breath of disbelieving laughter. 

“I’m serious, Gin,” Mike frowned. “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed before shrugging. “I don’t know how I’m feeling.”

Sure as she was that she was pregnant, the timer on the test still hadn’t gone off. She didn’t _know_. Not for sure. 

Mike swallowed and nodded. “Well, that’s okay. There’re still options, I’m—”

It was Ginny’s turn to reach out and cup his cheek. “That’s not what I meant.”

His shoulders slumped and he sighed in relief. “Good.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he replied, immediate and firm. “I’ve wanted a family with you since before I was allowed to, Ginny.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes and she sniffled. This had already been a rollercoaster of a day. She didn’t need Mike’s heartfelt confessions on top of that. The way her heart felt like it was glowing in her chest said otherwise. “You were always allowed to want that.”

Then, it didn’t matter that Ginny was currently seated on a closed toilet or that Mike was kneeling on the bathroom floor. She leaned in and pressed her lips against his, reveling in the the reassuring warmth the connection lit inside her.

When they pulled away, Mike’s smile was blinding. 

“So, we’re gonna have a little Lawson running around?”

“Maybe,” Ginny granted. And then, “Little Lawson?”

“Maybe?”

Like it sensed the turn in the conversation, Ginny’s phone started beeping. It was time. She turned and swiped at the screen until the room descended into quiet. Waving the phone a little vaguely in his direction, she admitted, “I don’t know. Haven’t looked yet.”

“You want to?”

“Together?”

“How else?”

Completely in sync, they both reached out and picked up the most significant piece of plastic they’d ever encountered. 

  

* * *

 

When, a mere 15 weeks later, the newest Baker-Lawson came into the world, Ginny was just glad that Mike was there. Not just because he was the father of her child.

After all, there were only so many breaking news stories that ESPN could steal from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Mike would absolutely say, "Let's wait," re: kids because he wouldn't want to pressure Ginny into anything, but the man is so ready to be a dad. He wants and deserves a family.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought! Here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.com/ask)!


	22. we'll eventually emerge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: Would love to see a fic in 1x10 where Mike actually knocks on Ginny's door instead of Rachels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: "Don't Say It" AU, Mike's probably too hard on himself and is a total sap
> 
> chapter title: Tim O'Reilly quote, "I like to think that even if we make some really bad choices and go down some bad paths, _we'll eventually emerge_ from it."

 

This was the opposite of a good idea. 

This thing that he was doing didn’t even exist on the same _continent_ as a good idea. 

But, well. How far had good ideas gotten him?

After all, pinning his future financial security on a career playing a children’s game also had to be the opposite of a good idea. But, Mike Lawson was an eight-time All-Star and destined for Cooperstown before all was said and done. He’d definitely managed to make bad choices work.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he rode the Omni’s elevator. That’s what he repeated as he walked down the blessedly empty hallway. That became his mantra as he raised his fist and knocked on a door that he definitely shouldn’t be.

It was sheer force of will that kept him believing it through the long silence after. 

Mike was considering whether to knock again or just leave—she might not even be in her room—when there was a thud behind the door. 

“I told you, it’s fine. It wasn’t—”

The door jerked open to reveal a pretty exasperated Ginny Baker. An exasperated Ginny Baker who’d clearly been getting ready for bed. Her hair was a riot of curls with none of the carefully sculpted softness of last night. As he thought that, Mike would have sworn he could feel a phantom brush against his forehead, right where one of the coils brushed against his skin. If he concentrated on her hair, maybe he wouldn’t think about the miles of smooth, dark skin on display, tank top and shorts doing little to leave anything up to the imagination. Mike had never seen so much of her skin, not in person at least. 

When she laid eyes on Mike, though, she cut herself off, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. 

“Expecting someone else, Baker?” he asked, gruff. The idea that she might have been waiting for someone dressed like— _that_ sat strangely in his chest.

“Oh,” she hedged, suddenly hesitant. “Um, no.” 

Neither of them said anything and Mike couldn’t help but think about their encounter this morning in the clubhouse. Couldn’t help but think that despite the awkwardness, all he’d wanted was to pull her into his orbit and finish what they’d started last night. 

An instinct that hadn’t faded as the day wore on. 

“You gonna let me in?” he finally asked, too aware of the the many peepholes in the hotel hallway.

Flustered, Ginny rocked back, but didn’t move from her position in the open door. She skewered him with an intent look, eyes narrowing as she considered. Mike stood firm against her scrutiny, willing her to let him inside. 

Finally, she gestured him in and Mike wasted no time. Once the door closed behind him, it seemed like the tension skyrocketed. 

Ginny fidgeted and Mike felt like he was about to burst into flames.

“What’re you doing here, Mike?” she eventually murmured. She didn’t quite meet his eyes and he couldn’t quite blame her. Her direct gaze was like a tractor beam, pulling him in ever closer. 

“Can’t I come visit my rookie?” 

Why was it so easy to show up, thinking he was ready to say something, and then chicken out at the last minute? How many times had it happened last night? And even before that? 

How bad was this decision that even his half-baked sense of self-preservation was wading in?

Ginny shrugged. “You haven’t before.”

“Well, your last game of the season’s tomorrow. I figured.”

She waited for him to continue, but Mike wasn’t sure how to. 

“Figured you’d what? Deliver one of your too-long speeches and then go find Rachel? She’s staying here, you know,” Ginny grumped, apparently done with Mike’s reticence. 

Mike could sympathize. 

“Rachel?” He shook his head, gaze steady on Ginny. “No. Only came here for one reason.”

She raised her chin, a challenge if he’d ever seen one. “Really?”

Mike nodded and took a step into her. She stood firm in the face of his advance, but Mike watched the way her pupils dilated, her chest rising in short, sharp bursts as her breath quickened.

All right. Bad decision time. 

“Really,” he confirmed, leaning into her space. God. How had he ever imagined that he could get this close to Ginny and give it up again? 

“I thought we didn’t need to talk about this,” she murmured, breath puffing against his lips. 

“Who said anything about talking?”

Like that, Mike nudged his nose against hers, encouraging Ginny to close the gap. 

She did. 

Her lips against his were enough to send him reeling. Mike skated his hands along her back, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of her tank top. She was so solid and real in his embrace, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. 

It wasn’t until she sighed into his mouth, lips parting and letting his tongue slip inside. Ginny’s arms twined around his neck and she pushed herself up onto her toes to get even closer. Her breasts pressing against his chest made him practically growl in appreciation. He hauled her up against him, effortlessly working a thigh between her legs. Her almost bare legs, covered only by a skimpy pair of shorts. 

And that thought had him groaning, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight.

When he pulled away, his breaths came in ragged pants. How had he, Mike Lawson, San Diego’s number one bachelor, been reduced to a groaning, panting mess with one kiss?

Looking into Ginny’s eyes, he had an inkling of understanding. 

He was just so in awe of her. Her strength and poise, and yes, how fucking beautiful she was. With her messy hair and bee-stung lips and flushed cheeks, there was no point in saying Ginny Baker wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Mike shifted his thigh, ready to pull away when Ginny didn’t give any indication of resuming the kiss. He could do one and done. If that was what she wanted, he could do that. Insistent hard on or no. 

But then, as his leg dragged between hers, there it was. Undeniable. Ginny’s lips parted and she ground against him. If it weren’t for the sharp exhale that accompanied the movement, Mike would have written it off, but it hung in the air, impossible to ignore. Her forehead fell against his shoulder and Mike would swear she was blushing. 

“Gin,” he murmured. Even he was surprised by how gentle, how tender her name came out. “You’ve gotta tell me what you want.”

“What happened to no talking?” she asked his chest, though her fingers were still curled in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. 

Mike breathed out shakily.

“I meant no talking us out of this. No talking about why we shouldn’t,” he swallowed when Ginny finally looked up at him, eyes shining in the soft light, “when we obviously want to.”

Ginny’s full lips quirked and Mike was entranced by the movement. As she said, “It’s obvious, huh?” his eyes snapped back to hers. 

She was fucking smirking at him. Mike’s hands shifted to her hips and he pulled her firmly against the bulk of his thigh in retaliation. Ginny groaned and Mike didn’t think he’d ever heard a better sound. 

“I’d say so,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up,” she retorted without any real heat. Her fingers started carding through his hair and Mike fought the urge to lean into her touch. It wasn’t that hard when Ginny was practically plastered to him. 

For a moment, they just breathed each other in, neither willing to pull away or say something else. 

And while Mike might be content to remain just like this for the rest of time in the abstract, he knew that wasn’t happening. 

“Just. You’ve gotta tell me what you want, Ginny.”

“Me?” she asked, rearing back in his arms, her hands falling to his shoulders. It pressed their hips more firmly together and Mike bit back a groan. The furrow in her brow suggested that she would not appreciate it. “I’m not the one who practically ran across the country to avoid some feelings.”

“Halfway,” he muttered mulishly.

“Fine,” she conceded, “halfway across the country. Either way, I’m not the one who’s been unclear.”

Ginny had him there. He could fight her on it, point out that she’d just been on a date with another man, argue that he was just as in the dark as she was, but it wouldn’t be the truth. 

So, because his bad decisions had already gotten him so far, he plunged even further. 

“I want someone to talk to at night,” he started, gazing directly into Ginny’s eyes. He needed her to believe him. “I want a family, even if it’s just me and someone I can count on. I want to have more than a couple of pennants to show for my career. I want a World Series ring.”

Ginny nodded seriously. She heard what he was saying, but not the implication, so he laid it all out. 

“But I want all of that with you. It’s been three months and I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know if that’s sad or ridiculous, but I do know that it’s right.”

If he could summon half the earnestness he was displaying now for his team pep-talks, well, the guys would probably never let him live it down. But Ginny’s eyes were shining, mouth spreading in a beatific smile, body practically melting against him. 

“I want you, Ginny,” he managed to get out before her lips slanted across his. 

“Back atcha, old man,” she murmured with a wicked grin before cutting off any comeback. 

And, really, Mike was fine with her tactics. More than fine, even. 

 _If this is what bad choices get me,_ he thought, hoisting Ginny into the air and swallowing her giggles as he walked them into her bedroom, _I’ll have to make them more often_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind like 8 times about the final direction of this one while writing, so if the tone changed, that's why. 
> 
> Anyway, what if Mike weren't so insistent that _nothing_ happened between him and Ginny? We might have gotten to see them make out, is all I'm saying. If they don't rub faces again soon, I'm going to be so disappointed.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Or, if you'd like to leave me a prompt, go for it! Here or over on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	23. maybe, hopefully, against all odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple people asked for the reasoning behind Christine’s name, and then I realized I should be honest about Ruby, too. So here’s a prequel to [allow me the influence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20469673)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: pregnancy, kid!fic, established relationship, domestic bliss
> 
> chapter title: Leslie T. Chang quote, "The past has been there all along, reminding us: This time— _maybe, hopefully, against all odds_ , we will get it right."

**George Edward Waddell (1876-1914)**

“And what’s her name, Baker?” Al asked, not once taking his eyes off the bundle in his arms. 

Ginny flashed Mike a triumphant smile— _See? Told you he’d ask me_ —and replied, “Ruby Evelyn Baker-Lawson.”

Al nodded his approval and flicked a questioning glance at Mike. “Rube Waddell?”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck in response, but was too exhausted to keep himself from nodding his agreement. Ginny turned on him, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Who?”

Since he was married to her, Mike recognized the warning signs. Al, however, was too distracted cooing down into Ruby’s scrunched face.

“Lefty pitcher from way way back. Threw a mean screwball for Chicago, if I remember correctly,” Al supplied, running a blunt fingertip along the downy softness covering the baby’s head. He crooned, “You gonna hurl just like him? Just like your mama?”

Ruby gurgled in response and Al lit up. 

Ginny just stared at Mike in disbelief. The look in her eyes promised that this was not the last of it.

And Ginny Baker always kept her promises.

Even when it was 1 AM and their infant daughter had just been put back to sleep. 

“You named our daughter after a pitcher. From Chicago.”

They’d eventually convinced Al to relinquish Ruby, though they’d also had to promise regular attendance at Sunday Dinners to seal the deal. They’d gone home and managed to make something that approximated real food and eat, despite the constant haze of exhaustion brought on by their newborn. They’d even managed to cuddle on the couch with their daughter, both marveling at her perfect fingers and chubby thighs. They’d put her down and managed to snatch a few hours of sleep for themselves, too.

It’d been enough that Mike sank into the cloud of contentment and forgot about the storm brewing on his horizon. 

Ginny, of course, hadn’t.

“No.” Mike had to get ahead of this one before it became a thing. If it became a thing, he knew he’d cave and end up on 3 AM feeding duty for another week. “Our daughter happens to have a name that is similar to the nickname of a pitcher who, at one point in his career, was signed to Chicago.”

Ginny did not appear to appreciate the distinction.

“Chicago?” 

“Gin,” he sighed, beckoning her over to the bed. If they were gonna argue, then he really wanted to do it with her warm and soft against him. He was too tired, otherwise. She came willingly enough, cushioning her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his ribs. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she tightened her grip on him. Mike wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was the end of it. “He played part of one season for Chicago.”

“Sounds familiar,” she muttered mulishly.

Mike rolled onto his side so he could face her. He brushed an errant curl out of her face. 

“Not so familiar,” he murmured, thumb tracing soft arcs along her cheekbone, “right?”

“It could have been,” came her whisper, but Mike was more concerned with the tears glimmering in Ginny’s eyes. 

Immediately, he gathered her up in his arms, doing his best to soothe and reassure her. “I’m here, Gin. Didn’t go anywhere. ‘M not gonna go anywhere,” he repeated over and over until she relaxed in his arms. 

“I know,” Ginny admitted, sniffling a little. She said it was just the baby blues, her body’s hormones evening out after nine months of carrying Ruby, but Mike had never been able to watch Ginny cry without feeling like a huge disappointment. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Just,” she yawned, straight into his chest and Mike rubbed her back. They were supposed to be asleep. When Ruby slept, they slept. It was what all the books said. “Did he really have to play for the _Cubs_?” 

“They weren’t even the Cubs yet,” was his automatic reply.

“I know,” she conceded, settling even closer to him on the mattress. Though she had one last argument. Apparently, she'd been doing her research, though Mike couldn't fathom when she'd had the time this evening. “You know, he was an alcoholic, too.”

“So was Jimmy Dugan.”

“Tom Hanks never played this guy in a movie.”

“Well, there’s still time for that.”

That earned him a laugh, slow and sleepy, just as he’d hoped. 

“Did it have to be Chicago?” she murmured just before drifting off to sleep.

 

* * *

  

**Christopher Mathewson (1880-1925)**

“Why do you keep wanting to name our kids after old, dead white guys?” she groaned, easing onto the couch with a grimace, her hand braced against her lower back.

Mike frowned. 

Not just because Ruby was doing her best to separate his beard from his face. 

“Gentle,” he warned, untwining her fingers from the bristles.

She patted his cheek and gave him a smacking kiss. “Sorry, daddy.”

“I forgive you, bub.” He smiled down at the wriggly three-year-old in his arms, then turned to his wife on the couch, still a little stunned that this was his life. 

Ginny, however, was still watching him expectantly. Even if a grin had snuck its way into the corner of her mouth.

“Who said anything about old, dead white guys?” He set Ruby down and watched her toddle over to her pile of toys in the corner. 

All he’d asked was, “How do you feel about another baseball name?” Which, to be fair, did encompass a lot of old, dead white guys.

“I’m not naming our daughter Cy or Gwynn or whatever you’ve come up with,” Ginny warned as Mike sank beside her on the couch. Immediately, his hand went to her belly, splayed wide to catch any kicks the youngest Baker-Lawson was torturing her mother with today. Ginny moved his hand up and across. “She’s over here today.”

Mike pressed a kiss to her temple in thanks before addressing her original comment. “Joke’s on you, Gin. Maybe I wanted to name her Mariana.”

“You hate the Yankees.”

“Goddamn right I do.” He threw a guilty glance over at Ruby, but she was happily building with her Duplos and ignoring her parents. 

Ginny rolled her eyes, but leaned her head against his shoulder anyway. If that wasn’t love.

“All right,” she sighed. “Lay it on me.”

Mike shifted so he could wind his free arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “I was thinking Christine.”

“Christine.”

There was no hint of what Ginny was feeling in her tone, so Mike settled for an eloquent, “Yeah.”

It was quiet for a minute before she gave in. “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one.”

“It’s for, uh,” Mike’s fingers tangled in the curly ends of Ginny’s hair as he fidgeted for a moment. “Christy Mathewson?”

“The pitcher?”

“Glad to see that Ken Burns stuck with you,” he chuckled.

His wife elbowed him in the side, but not as hard as she sometimes did. He counted it as a win. Mike didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was thinking. Mulling over that bit of information. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Ruby murmuring to herself as she constructed what could have been anything from a racecar to a ladybug.

“He threw screwballs, too, didn’t he?” she finally asked.

And there it was.

“He did.”

Ginny shifted so she could look him in the eye, though his hand stayed firmly planted on her stomach. He had yet to feel the baby kick today. “You got a thing for screwballers I didn’t know about, old man?”

“Well, I did manage to lock down the first one who agreed to sleep with me.”

She laughed, craning forward to press a fond kiss against his mouth. 

Ruby, of course, chose that moment to abandon her blocks and climb up into her parents’ laps. She wiggled under Mike’s arm to curl around her mother’s stomach, ear pressed to the swell as she chattered away to her little sister. 

Mike could hardly believe his good luck. Seriously, how did he, of all people, manage to stumble into this kind of domestic bliss?

Much later, after they’d eaten dinner and gotten Ruby put to bed—after the entirely necessary three bedtime stories, of course—Mike and Ginny were getting ready to sleep too. They navigated their nighttime rituals deep in the dance that most married couples perfected, pivoting around each other in the bathroom and closet, turning off faucets for one another, handing things over without being asked. 

Once they were settled in bed, lights out, two pillows sacrificed to propping up Ginny into some semblance of comfort, Mike asked, “So, what’d you think?”

Ginny’s sleepy voice drifted through the dark. “Of what?”

“The name. Christine.” Mike shifted and laid his hand back over her stomach. He still hadn’t felt the baby kick today. 

“I like it,” she replied, rolling closer to him, ridiculous pillow construction forgotten. Unerringly, she nosed against his jaw and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Why don’t you tell me why you like it so much, though.”

He took a deep breath and did his best not to think about how much shit she was going to give him when he told her. 

“Without those guys, those other screwballers,” he confessed to the dark, totally aware of Ginny’s easy breathing at his side, “I wouldn’t have ever found you. I mean, you made it to the show on your own, but that pitch—the screwball—it led you there. Led you here. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that.”

Ginny’s arm curled around his chest and she pressed her face closer to his neck. “You softy,” she accused with the slightest sniffle. 

Mike pressed a kiss into her hair and agreed. “What d’you say, Gin? Christine Baker-Lawson?”

“Christine Baker-Lawson,” she tried, rolling the name on her tongue. 

Then, beneath his palm, came a soft flicker of movement. Ginny laughed and Mike grinned wide. 

“I think she likes it!” he crowed triumphantly. The little, fluttering kicks against his hand kept him from pulling away. Not that he even wanted to in the first place. 

“Well, if _she_ likes it,” Ginny giggled, covering his hand with hers. 

Mike lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, old man,” she replied, affection and sleep coating her words. 

“You better remember this in the morning,” he warned as he settled more firmly into the mattress, eyes closing and giving into the pull of exhaustion.

“I’ll remember,” came the sleepy reassurance. Then, “At least Mathewson never played for Chicago.”

Mike would have replied, but he was falling under too fast. Instead, he just tugged Ginny closer to his side and fell asleep smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is my fourth pregnancy/kid!fic despite being usually pretty ambivalent on the subject. But more than I love the idea of a happily settled Bawson, I love the idea of them running around with a gaggle of children. Ginny would be so excited to give her kids a real childhood and Mike would do everything to give them a sense of stability and. I. Just. Can't!!!
> 
> For reference, the baseball players I mentioned (not counting Rube Waddell and Christy Mathewson) were: Jimmy Dugan, fictional manager of the Rockford Peaches in a League of Their Own (AKA my favorite movie ever); Cy Young, the winningest pitcher in baseball history; Tony Gwynn, Mr. Padre and one of the best, most consistent hitters to ever play; Mariano Rivera, the Yankees' closing pitcher from 1997 until he retired in 2013.
> 
> Anyway, I'm wrapping up what I have left of my prompts, so if you'd like to see something specific from me, now's the time to ask! Leave a prompt in the comments or over on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask) if you like!


	24. we'll conquer them all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: fluffy bawson? Like the fluffiest or if you feel up to it pt. 3 to years gone so fast
> 
> also: capnmac88 wanted a continuation of [i’ll hold you (in a cold place)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952656) which was a continuation of [years have gone so fast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018), both of which you can read or not. I happen to still like them, which is rare for me, but you do you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: fluff, fluff, and more fluff
> 
> chapter title: "Awake My Soul" by Mumford and Sons

When Ginny woke in the morning, wrapped up in bedding that smelled more like Mike than her, her first thought, before she even opened her eyes, was that she should probably be confused.

She wasn’t. Everything was crystal clear.

Last night, she’d won the World Series. She’d ridden the wave of celebration and exultation right into Mike Lawson’s arms.

Right where she wanted to be. 

That she didn’t get to wake up in his arms was a little disappointing, yes, but waking up enveloped in his smell and his clothes and his bed was an acceptable consolation prize. Ginny stretched, relishing in the slightly achy pull of her muscles, proof of the hard work she’d put in yesterday.

Put in all her life, really.

Finally, she opened her eyes and took in the early, golden light diffusing Mike’s room in a gentle glow. She was alone, but distantly, she heard the slight rattle of someone at work in the kitchen. The rattle of pots and pans, the hiss of water on hot metal, the clink of silverware. At least she knew where Mike was, even if she could only hear him for the way sound bounced off the sleek, glass walls of his house. 

If Ginny’d ever stopped to think about it, she would have assumed that a house made of glass would feel cold. Lonely. But she was wrapped up in bed with the sun pouring over her, the man she’d been waiting for her entire life in the kitchen, and it was hard to even imagine a chill existing in this house. 

She turned her face into his pillow and inhaled deeply, considered just sinking back into the mattress and sleep again. 

“Morning.”

Well, that worked, too.

Ginny hugged the pillow to her chest as she rolled over to greet Mike and the deliciously fragrant breakfast he’d brought along. Before she could say anything, though, her mouth went dry. Apparently, when he’d left the bed for the kitchen, Mike hadn’t bothered to put on any other clothes. All he wore were the boxers he’d slept in and a soft smile. She eyed him, and the tray he was carrying if she were interested in being 100% honest, hungrily.

His smile turned a little smug, and Ginny couldn’t even bring herself to mind. Smug was a good look on him, damn it.

“Hey,” she murmured, pushing herself up onto an elbow to better admire the view. She was already caught. Might as well make the most of it.

Mike eyed the mess of blankets doubtfully and settled for putting the tray of food on his night stand before sliding back into bed. Immediately, he reached for her. Ginny was more than happy to oblige him. 

And, _oh._  His mouth on hers was just as good as she remembered. Her fingers curled around his biceps and her body thrummed with contentment. Contentment at being warm and cozy in bed, at having won the World Series, at being able to feel Mike’s heart beat in time with hers.

Then, his weight shifted, Ginny’s thighs parted, he settled between them—and she definitely didn’t remember _that_ from last night _._  

Before she could really start to enjoy herself, though, a third presence made itself known. 

Her stomach.

The loud growl, woken by the wafting smell of bacon, grumbled through the room and Mike started to laugh against her lips. Ginny groaned as the man on top of her shook with laughter, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

She pushed ineffectually at him. “Shut up,” she whined. Another growl from her belly and Mike just shook even harder. “It’s not funny,” Ginny scolded, even as a grin stole across her lips.

“It’s pretty funny,” Mike gasped, lifting his head to drop a quick kiss on her lips. Ginny chased him as he rolled away, but, when she saw him reach for the tray of food, let him go.

When he resettled himself, tray holding a stack of pancakes, a plate of bacon, two mugs of coffee, and a bowl of sliced fruit just beside his knee, Ginny dragged herself upright. 

“All this for me?”

“You can have half,” he allowed, like he was being gracious in giving her even that.

Ginny snorted, but picked up a cube of honeydew and popped it in her mouth. 

Mike dug in, too. With more gusto than Ginny, whose stomach had interrupted what could have been a very pleasant morning. 

She raised an eyebrow at the rapidly diminishing stack of pancakes. “What’s the rush, Lawson? You have somewhere to be? Because I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t planning on getting out of this bed in the near future.”

If it had been anyone else in bed with her, Ginny might have flushed and stuttered her way through that last sentence. But it was Mike and they’d been on the same page for months. They both wanted this.

But apparently other things came first.

“Well,” he drawled, “we’ve got a team press conference,” Ginny groaned, but Mike kept going, “at 12:30 that I’m sure will go on forever. Then, there’re a bunch of photoshoots whenever it does end. Photoshoots for the team. Photoshoots for the MVP—that’s me, if you missed it.” He waggled his eyebrows and Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself against him at the head of the bed. 

“You’ll probably get your own photo session, too, with that save last night,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I won’t get to pose with my very own trophy,” she teased. 

“You want me in your pictures, you say the word.”

The bright, surprised peal of laughter echoed off the wall of windows, but Ginny was more interested in the way it bounced off Mike’s bare chest. She nestled closer to him, insides warming when his arm around her back settled more snugly around her. His hand cupped her hip, thumb running circles into the threadbare shirt that just barely covered her skin there. Ginny couldn’t stop smiling, not that she could think of a single good reason to.

Except, well.

She sighed. “Still wish we didn’t have to get up.”

“Tell you what. We get through all the team stuff and afterwards? I’m all yours.”

Ginny’s heart nearly stopped beating. She tipped her face up to him, eyes wide, and couldn’t stop the words that dropped off her lips.

“Say it again.”

Mike glanced down at her, but didn’t need a clarification. His eyes softened and he brought his free hand up to her chin. “’M all yours,” he promised, rough with emotion.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t a surprise, but Ginny still felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She licked her lips and nodded once. “Good.”

Mike’s smile was impossibly fond. Ginny felt like her heart would explode, he made it feel so full. “Just good?”

“No.” She leaned in to taste the teasing smile on his mouth, pressing him down onto the mattress so she could hover over him. Then, she echoed his words from last night. “It’s perfect.”

And it would be, Ginny was sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway did you know that neither of these suckers say "I love you" in any of these fics? I did not until I was done and now it's just like this. 
> 
> Breakfast in bed is fluffy, right?


	25. got you deep in the heart of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: Mike finds out that during a boozey weekend in Vegas Ginny gets his number tattooed and now I he really needs to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Padres hijinks, Mike is fucking nosy, Ginny is long suffering, tattoos
> 
> chapter title: "I've Got You Under My Skin" by Frank Sinatra

Before exiting her dressing room, Ginny poked her head out the door and looked both ways, feeling like a little kid again, waiting to cross the street. Only, the danger here wasn't some inattentive driver about to mow her down. In fact, she would welcome some negligent, self-centered behavior right now. It sure as hell beat what was actually happening. 

Sighing in relief at the empty hallway, Ginny ducked back into her room, snagged her tablet and headphones, and snuck out the door. 

That's what she'd been reduced to. Peeking around corners and creeping through the clubhouse like some kind of criminal. If this kept up, Ginny was pretty sure she was well on her way to be the youngest, healthiest woman to die of a heart attack. She’d become a paranoid mess, constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the inevitable moment when—

“Just a hint, Baker.”

 _That_. 

Ginny managed not to jump out of her skin this time, but she did whirl on the source of her constantly suspicious state. 

“Christ, Lawson. Wear a bell or something,” she complained, pushing past six feet of solid major league catcher. She strode down the hall, ignoring her bearded shadow in favor of nodding to her other teammates. He was pretty hard to ignore, especially considering the way their teammates didn’t. They’d flick him curious looks, which, at first, Ginny thought meant they were in the dark, wanting to know why the hell he'd been hounding her lately. 

She kept thinking that right up until Stubbs asked him, “You find out what it is yet?”

Though he’d been quiet, Ginny was standing literally three feet away. Of course she heard him. The hissed chorus of “Shut up!” didn’t help anyone's case.

Ginny leveled Mike an exasperated glare. “You told them?”

“About your ink?” he asked, chomping on a wad of gum and somehow managing to give her a shit-eating smirk at the same time. “I may’ve mentioned it.”

Taking a look around the clubhouse and clocking too many faces turning away, trying not to get caught, Ginny narrowed her eyes in consideration. She sighed in defeat and slouched into an empty seat, beckoning them on. Mike’s face lit up and several of their teammates perked up, too. 

“What have you heard?” she asked first, looking around at the room full of gossipmongers parading around as her teammates. 

There were a few guilty looks thrown around, but Sonny got the ball rolling. 

“You really get tatted up in Vegas, Baker?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking the tiny bit of ink hardly qualified her as “tatted up,” but confirmed anyway. 

“Why Vegas, mami?” Livan splayed out in his chair and smirked at the dirty look Ginny threw him.

“Haven’t ever been,” she replied, sticking to the bare facts, “aside from road trips with the Chihuahuas. My friend was driving out for the weekend and invited me along.”

Cara, upon learning that they both had free weekends—practically unheard of in the middle of baseball season—had declared a girl’s trip to Vegas was in order. Ginny was more than happy to oblige, even bankrolling a room in a real hotel rather than the rundown motel they would’ve been stuck in otherwise. Any argument that rundown motels were part of the experience was trumped by the thread count of the sheets at the Wynn.

It seemed that the Wynn was just as excited to have Ginny Baker as a guest as she and her friends were not to worry about bed bugs. Several bottles of complimentary champagne awaited them in the room.

What was it about being champagne drunk that made bad decisions seem so rational?

Whatever it was, Cara went home covered in a stripper’s body glitter while Ginny left permanently branded.

“It hurt?”

“Just ‘cause you need someone to hold your hand while you get yours doesn’t mean we all do.”

A low “ooh” echoed through the room, like it was full of a bunch of teenagers and not pro ballplayers. The guys ragged on Sal good-naturedly and Ginny grinned to soften the blow. Salvi still clutched at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. 

“So. Where is it?” That was Voorhies, waggling his eyebrows. 

A hush fell over the room and Ginny considered for a moment. Her gaze darted over to Mike and his head was tilted inquiringly, though the corners of his mouth were tugged down in a faint frown. Like he was thinking too hard. 

That decided it.

“Well,” Ginny rubbed her neck, a little sheepish, before plowing on, “it’s kinda personal, you know? I put in a lot of thought to what I was going to get. I had to. It’s gonna be on my body forever, right?” 

She gestured up and down and was pleased to see nearly every pair of eyes trace the movement. Several guys nodded along, wide-eyed and hanging on her every word.

“Since it’s so personal, I knew it had to go somewhere that wasn’t always on display. Somewhere that not many people would get to see. Just someone special,” she breathed, smiling soft and biting her lip for emphasis. 

It was utterly silent in the San Diego Padres’ clubhouse. Pin drop silent. Twenty-four fully grown men waiting with baited breath as Ginny’s fingers toyed with the hem of her jersey, flirting with the seam.

“But you guys are my teammates. You’re all important to me and,” she drew a deep breath and scanned the room, making eye contact with each and every Padre, including the now scowling catcher and captain, “I’ve decided…”

Ginny paused, waiting until the tension in the room was palpable, every man on the edge of his seat in anticipation, before springing her trap.

“… that none of you losers are ever gonna see it,” she finished firmly, pushing to her feet and striding off to the cardio suite.

A chorus of disappointed groans followed her, but Ginny didn’t care. They deserved it, the busybodies. And no one more than her captain, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, apparently.

She set herself up on a bike that faced that door—no more sneak attacks from Lawson, thank you—and started going over hitters for her next outing in a few days. Better to concentrate on that than her teammates’ apparent inability to mind their own damn business. 

Of course, just because he couldn’t sneak up on her the way he’d been doing for the past week, didn’t mean Mike was going to leave her in peace. 

Watching Mike amble around the otherwise empty room like he just so happened to wander in, not even ten minutes after Ginny’d gotten there herself, she couldn’t help but curse Eliot’s big, fat mouth. Again.

To be fair, she hadn’t told him that her tattoo was a _secret_ , but really. Some things didn’t need to be said, did they?

Though, she never would’ve thought that Mike would be the one Eliot told. Honestly, she didn’t want to know what conversation had led to that information being in play. Or how that conversation even started. If she’d ever thought about it, she would’ve put money on Mike not even remembering Eliot existed half the time. 

Which was why it was such a surprise when her captain showed up outside her changing room one afternoon looking like the cat that ate the canary. 

“A little birdy told me your secret, Baker,” he’d sung, leaning in the door frame.

She’d spared him a glance, by now used to the way he made her heart speed up and her brain fuzz over. But he was her teammate and they weren’t talking about it, so she ignored the way her body wanted to rebel and fold itself up in his arms.

“Got a lot of secrets, Lawson,” she’d drawled. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

A flash of frowning surprise passed over his face, like he hadn’t realized he might not know everything there was to know about her, but it was gone in a blink. He hadn’t been put off for long. 

“Something about a little bit of body art you may have gotten over the break?” Her dumbstruck look must have spoken for itself because his expression turned self-satisfied. “So it’s true? Ginny Baker got a tattoo?”

“How d’you even know that?” she’d demanded. The only people who knew were Cara, who’d been in the parlor with her, and—

“Eliot,” she and Mike had said at the same time, Ginny with a grimace and Mike with a cocky grin. She sank back into her chair and groaned in annoyance. She’d told Eliot about the tattoo so he’d keep any hint of it off her social media accounts, keep it private. Not tell a man—one who loved to hear himself talk—all about it.

Then, he’d cocked his head and given her a considering look. A look that Ginny was becoming more and more familiar with the longer they kept not talking about _it_. His cocky grin turned a little dangerous and Ginny would deny to her dying day the way it made her body thrum with awareness. 

“So, what’d you get?” A simple question complicated both by the low rumble of Mike’s voice and it’s answer. 

So, in defiance of the way his voice made her knees turn to jelly, Ginny’d stood, marched straight up to Mike, and slammed the door in his face with a “None of your goddamn business!”

And she’d stuck with that answer in the week since Mike found out about the tattoo, though he’d done his best to goad her into letting something slip. He popped up where he was least expected—waiting outside her changing room, showing up to her bullpen sessions, following her to her PT appointments—leaving Ginny on high alert at all times. For the past seven days, she’d been constantly aware of the better than good chance that her captain and catcher was lurking somewhere nearby, ready to ambush her. Now that he’d roped the team into his information gathering mission, Ginny was positive her stock answer would be put into even heavier rotation. 

One eye on her heat maps and one eye on the catcher trying to nonchalantly roam the cardio suite, Ginny waited. 

Not long. Within a few minutes Mike ambled over as if he’d just noticed he wasn’t alone. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted sunnily, leaning against the bike’s console. Ginny leveled him with her best unimpressed stare, though it seemed to bounce right off Mike’s layers of studied nonchalance and self-importance. “You wanted to get away from all the questions, I’m sure.”

“And yet I’m positive you’re itching to ask one of your own,” she replied dryly. “Spit it out, Lawson.”

He grinned and inclined his head in acknowledgement. Ginny definitely didn’t track his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. No, her attention was entirely focused on her scouting reports as she braced herself for the interrogation. 

Surprisingly, Mike led off with a new question. Well, for him, at least. “You’re really not gonna show anyone?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she cut him a sideways glance. “Not any of my teammates, no.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not any of their damn business what I put on my body.”

Mike’s head tilted in consideration, but he nodded slowly. Ginny wanted to sigh in relief. If he accepted that, then maybe that was the end of it. 

She should have known better.

“What about someone who’s not your teammate?” he asked, studying her intently enough that she wanted to squirm.

“It’s not like I’m running around showing it off to everyone who’s not a Padre,” she grumped under his scrutiny. She punched up the resistance on the machine and hoped Mike would take the hint.

He didn’t.

“So, you’ll show someone special.”

“Someone special,” she echoed, at a loss. Sure, she’d said it out in the main area, but that was a joke. What was with the significant looks he was giving her? Should she know where he’s going with this?

“Who’s not a Padre.”

And it clicked. What Mike had been asking all along.

Ginny’s heart stopped. They didn’t talk about this. They’d agreed not to talk about this. And yet, if the serious expression on Mike’s face was any sign, that didn’t matter. She swallowed and her heart sputtered back into rhythm. Her legs started pumping again, feeling strangely disconnected from her brain.

“Who’s not a Padre,” she agreed hoarsely. And then, because she couldn’t hold it in: “Anymore.”

Mike’s dropped any pretense of nonchalance. His gaze cut straight to hers and he leaned in a little, his sudden intensity making her mouth go dry. Ginny looked back and tried to will herself not to flush, or break eye contact. She wasn’t going to compromise on this. 

There were still two seasons left on Mike’s contract. Even if his knees didn’t last the whole time, that was a long stretch where they were going to be teammates. Ginny was sure that her career, only in its first full season in the majors, wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny and scandal that would descend if it ever got out that she involved herself with her captain while they were still playing together. She wasn’t even sure that it would survive if they kept everything above board, but at least she’d be able to live with herself. 

They’d gotten so good at reading each other, Ginny knew Mike would know exactly what she wasn’t saying.

He looked away and sighed. “You’re really gonna make me wait that long to see it?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, still reeling a little from the surreal turn her day just took.

He nodded his understanding, but didn’t crack a smile. Knuckles rapping softly against the bike’s hand grip, Mike pushed back, and turned away. 

“It’s—” Her mouth went dry, but she had to give him something. “I think you’ll like it.”

“It’s on you, Gin,” he replied, though he didn’t bother to stop or turn back to face her. “Of course I’ll like it.”

Ginny watched him go, the 36 emblazoned on his back taunting her. She rubbed self-consciously at her ribs. 

Just under her fingertips, navy ink outlined in gold, that same number lay etched into her skin. 

What Mike would say when he finally got to see it, Ginny could only imagine. Although, the imagining was pretty fun all on its own.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, thoughts that were decidedly _not helpful_  to her resolve to wait, Ginny turned back to her tablet. She didn’t need to figure things out right now. 

After all, she had two seasons to figure out a good comeback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love troll!Ginny. When she sets the guys up in the second episode is so so good!! I couldn't resist her doing it again. Especially when the team's being too nosy. 
> 
> Also, I'm not sure I've gotten a chance to really revel in the slow burn of their relationship, but it's one of my favorite tropes. Just unspoken, mutual longing all day please! So, I saw my chance and took it. Also, I chose the tattoo colors because that was the colorway the Padres used in Ginny's first season, so nostalgia and everything. The one they picked for 2017 is unfortunately super boring. 
> 
> Anyway, what did you think? How smug would Mike be once he finally has a chance to get up close and personal with Ginny's ink? Or, if you want, feel free to leave me a prompt of your own! Here or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.com/ask) :)


	26. if we lay a strong enough foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Do you write aus? Because what about one where Bill Baker is still alive and Ginny has to finally tell him and her Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: AU - canon divergence, Bill Baker lives, established relationship, outside POV
> 
> chapter title: "Dear Theodosia" from Hamilton

Ginny’d always been a little shocked that her father had given up control of her career to Amelia. He’d turned away every other agent that’d come sniffing around, and there’d been quite a few. As she made her way up through the low minors, making a name for herself with her screwball, sports agents started coming out of the woodwork, smelling a big potential payoff in representing the first woman who could make it to the show. Of course, Bill Baker had one thing to say to the vultures: Over my dead body.

Then, along came Amelia Slater with her thousand dollar suits, complete disinterest in baseball, and steely gaze. Ginny expected her to go the way of every other agent who’d expressed an interest in her career, especially once Amelia met Bill for the first time. 

But her pop must’ve seen something in Amelia, because before Ginny knew it, he was flying back to North Carolina, leaving his daughter’s career in a stranger’s hands. 

Much as she sometimes misses her pop, though, she’s equally grateful he took that step back. 

Because if he’d been hovering around San Diego for the past few years, there’s no way she’d be in the position she’s in right now. 

And that would be a shame.

Pinned to the mattress beneath the weight of Mike Lawson, naked and sated? Yeah, there’s no way she’s giving that up.

Especially not when Mike nuzzles into her neck sweetly, his beard rasping against her collar bone and making her sigh. Her hands smooth down his back and Mike practically purrs in contentment. He lifts his face to hers and Ginny melts into his kiss. Her heel runs up the back of Mike’s leg and the kiss turns needy as the heat rises between them. 

Mike’s moving south to get round three started when Ginny’s phone starts to buzz on the nightstand. 

“Leave it,” he mutters into the skin of her stomach, but Ginny catches sight of the name on the screen and rolls away. 

“It’s my dad,” she tosses over her shoulder with an apologetic smile. Mike huffs and drags himself back up the bed as Ginny answers. “Hey, pop.”

As she listens, her stomach twists itself into knots. She’s uncomfortably aware of the man in bed with her as she does her best to wrap up the phone call. Ginny would have done that anyway; it’s weird to talk with a parent when you’re naked, even if it’s just over the phone. But when she finally hangs up, she doesn’t roll back to Mike, just flops against the pillows.

She can feel his eyes on her, but she was still trying to process. 

“So,” Mike drawls. “What’d Bill Baker have to say today? Training tips? Or was it diet suggestions?”

Ginny just breathes, staring up at the ceiling. She’s silent long enough that Mike frowns and murmurs her name. The concern in his voice is enough to shake her loose. 

Taking a deep breath, she turns her wide eyes on him and says, “He’s coming for a visit.”

Mike blanches and flops back onto his pillows. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, staring up at the ceiling. Ginny falls back, too, and mirrors him.

Fuck is right.

 

* * *

  

Bill Baker has a lot of presence for a man that Mike’s never really met. He’s been around every so often—for Ginny’s first game and All-Star appearance—but never long enough for Mike to do much more than introduce himself. Three seasons Ginny’s been a Padre and the man who started it all might as well be a ghost. 

Still, it _feels_ like Mike knows him. He would even say that he’s more familiar with Ginny’s dad than some of his teammates. Which is ridiculous, but that’s where his life is right now.

He’d been skeptical at first, both of Ginny and Bill Baker. With the number of times Ginny brought up her dad in that first season, he’d been sure that she was just a spoiled, homesick daddy’s girl with a trick pitch. She’d implode in a few games and the front office would replace her with someone who didn’t come with their own three ring circus. The more Mike saw, though, the more he had to eat his words. Bill Baker had trained one hell of a ball player. 

And raised one hell of a woman, but Mike really doesn’t like thinking about his girlfriend’s dad when he’s… appreciating her womanly attributes. 

Attributes that are fully on display in a pair of cut-offs and a tank top. She’d been more covered when they left his house, but when she realized it was his flannel that she’d grabbed, she left it in the car to avoid any awkward questions. 

Mike knows that he can’t glare at every person who ogles Ginny’s long legs or powerful shoulders. As far as most of the world is concerned, he’s just her captain, making one final run at the play offs before his knees need to be taken out back and shot.

And, apparently, her errand boy since he’s chauffeured her to the airport to pick up her dad. 

“Remind me why I’m here again,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth, arms crossed over his chest. Next to him, Ginny scans the crowd. Her eyes flicker over him appreciatively, though, and it almost makes this charade worth it.

“Because you’re building up brownie points for when we finally tell him,” she replies patiently. They’ve been over this. Several times, in fact. Still, Mike chews huffily on a wad of gum. 

“Which we’re not doing now.”

Ginny’s eyes slide over to him and she sways into his space. Not enough to actually touch him, but enough that Mike can feel the radiant warmth of her skin. “Not unless you want him to lose it on the both of us in public.”

Mike considers this. There aren’t many people that know he and Ginny are seeing each other. There are fewer who know that Mike plans on spending the rest of his life with her. 

(Actually, he’s the only one who knows that one, but he’s got time.)

Nonetheless, it feels weird to hide their relationship from Ginny’s dad. Neither of them have the most functional relationships with their parents, but Ginny and her dad come the closest. He knows that Ginny doesn’t like keeping the secret, but that Bill would not take the news in stride. 

Still, he wants to shout from the rooftops that he’s Ginny Baker’s man. That he’s somehow convinced this brilliant, talented, beautiful woman to put up with him. 

But much as he wants to brag, Mike would rather cut off his right arm than potentially derail Ginny’s career. And going public with a relationship with her team captain has derailment written all over it.

“Let’s save that for after the postseason,” he responds, going back to scanning the crowd. 

“After the postseason,” she agrees, knocking his elbow with hers. 

It feels dangerously close to jinxing it, but nearly everyone’s in agreement: the Padres are going to the World Series this year. 

That, in fact, is why Bill Baker has decided to finally come out to San Diego for an extended visit. He’s apparently worried about Ginny’s staying power, and wants to monitor her training. That he doesn’t fully trust the Padres staff after Ginny’s arm blew out two years ago is clear. 

Mike can’t really blame him.

It’s gonna be a long month and a half, though. Mike’s gotten used to Ginny staying the night and sharing space with her. It’ll be strange going to bed alone while Ginny stays at her sparsely used condo with her dad. More than that, it’ll be strange only having her around during training and games. Usually, they spend most of their free time together. Enough of it that even though they haven’t made their relationship official—except to Blip, Evelyn, and Amelia—there have to be plenty of their teammates who suspect something more is going on at least. 

(Because their teammates are not stupid, they keep those suspicions to themselves.) 

Still, when Ginny lights up at the sight of a stocky, bald man, Mike can’t really mind that they’re going to have to do more actual sneaking around than they have in a long time. She looks so happy. How can he be annoyed?

“Hey, pop!” She waves, like Bill isn’t already on his way over, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey yourself, little girl,” he greets with a smile, hardly rocking back as Ginny launches herself into his arms. 

Mike smiles fondly at the sight, though he feels guilty as hell when Bill Baker’s gaze pins him down. Was he wearing his heart on his sleeve again? It’s hard reining in his affection for his pitcher, especially now that he knows it’s a two way street. Still, he doesn’t really need her dad figuring him out within a minute of meeting him. 

But, if this is setting the tone for the next six weeks, Mike’s going to have his work cut out for him.

 

* * *

 

Bill Baker doesn’t take his eyes off Mike, not even as his daughter pulls away and turns to gesture at the catcher. 

“Pop, you remember Mike.”

His little girl is nervous, her eyes darting between her captain and him, searching for approval. Bill tucks that bit of information away as he reaches out to shake Mike Lawson’s hand. He’s already got quite the stockpile, but it’s nice to finally have firsthand experience. 

“Doesn’t the captain of the Padres have better things to do than drive his teammates and their fathers around?” He smiles, but the question requires an answer. 

Mike smiles easily back, though the expression softens when it lands on his daughter for a minute. He doesn’t linger, though Bill can tell that it’s a struggle. 

“Oh, definitely,” Lawson jokes, reaching out to shake Bill’s hand, “but when his teammate forgets that her car’s in the shop, it’s really the least he can do. It’s nice to see you again, sir.”

Bill’s eyebrows want to jump at that even as he takes the offered hand. Sir. Like the boy’s trying to make a good impression. It’s not until he sees the smile on Ginny’s face, eyes lit up with undisguised affection, that he realizes.

Like that, every vague suspicion that Bill Baker has ever harbored about his daughter’s relationship with her catcher crystallizes into a near certainty.

He wants to be angry. Wants to explode, even. How could she risk everything they’ve worked for? In such a big year, too. The Padres might actually make it to the World Series. They might actually win it all. And Ginny wants to go and get distracted? 

She’s not the worst of it, though.

Mike Lawson is her captain, her catcher, her mentor. He should know better. Know better than to try and get involved with the first woman in the league. As if she won’t have enough of a hard time convincing history she’s a real ballplayer without being tied to one of her teammates. 

Besides, Bill Baker knows all about Mike Lawson. Knows his reputation with women. He likes to think that he knows his daughter better than to believe that she’d let herself get talked into the kind of arrangement Lawson must be used to. He also thought that Ginny knew better than to develop feelings for her captain, but judging by the look in her eyes and the smile on his face, he’s wrong on that front. Who knows what else he’s wrong about?

Bill’s learned to pick his battles, though, so he squeezes Lawson’s hand just a bit tighter than he usually would and holds his tongue. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too. Ginny’s been a fan of yours for a long time.” If he leans into that “long” harder than he has to, Bill figures that’s his right as a father. 

Rather than chagrin, Mike perks up, sending a sly smile Ginny’s way. “Oh, really? There didn’t happen to be a poster on her wall, did there?”

Ginny flushes and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s practically pouting, the way she used to when he’d send her to bed earlier than she’d like. 

“Stop fishing, old man,” she grumbles, leading them over to the baggage carousel. 

Bill keeps his mouth shut and observes. He’s still getting over the surprise of his realization, and it’ll take time until he resigns himself to it. His head is clearer now, though. 

Whatever’s going on between Lawson and his daughter—they’re too casual with their touches for something not to be going on—it clearly hasn’t gotten in the way of the game. The Padres are having the best season in franchise history, due in no small part to Mike’s bat and Ginny’s arm. 

In fact, Bill spends most of the month leading up to the World Series keeping his mouth shut and observing. 

What he learns is this: 

1\. Ginny is everything he’s ever dreamed of in a ballplayer. 

She’s focused and dedicated. She knows the game inside and out and uses that knowledge to her advantage. Sure, his daughter might never be the best, might never win a Triple Crown or the Cy Young, but she has earned every opportunity that’s come her way and will doubtless earn many more. 

2\. Ginny doesn’t really need his guidance anymore. 

Three seasons into her major league career, Ginny is confident in herself. Bill had seen the evidence of that when he watched her play on TV, but it’s something else to see it in person. 

(As a coach, it makes him proud. As a father, he can’t help but feel a little nostalgic.)

3\. Ginny’s confidence is bolstered and encouraged by Mike Lawson. 

Bill’s had plenty of opportunity to see her work with Lawson and Duarte, and while she performs well with both of them, the trust and camaraderie Ginny’s built with her captain sometimes creates baseball magic. They don’t need to talk to understand each other, though they do. Constant ribbing and teasing, enough to set Bill’s teeth on edge. But neither of them loses focus while they’re in game mode. 

Whatever is between them doesn’t matter when they’re on the field. 

But off the field…

4\. Ginny is in love with her captain, and he loves her back. 

It’s not a surprise, given all the suspicions he’d harbored over the years. Honestly, it’s a surprise they’ve managed to keep their relationship—and Bill is sure it is a relationship, not just poorly concealed feelings—under wraps. It seems so obvious, even while they’re clearly doing their best not to give themselves away around him.

They are putting a lot of effort into that. Bill watches with growing amusement as Ginny and Mike do their best not to give into gravity around each other. They rarely touch, but when they do, it takes concerted effort on both of their parts to move away. If they’d been honest with him, Bill would’ve considered putting them out of their misery, but they haven’t so he doesn’t. 

Bill is fairly sure they’re just waiting for the postseason to end before spilling the beans, which he can respect. Baseball trumps just about everything in his book. 

Honestly, though, if he has to witness his daughter making moon eyes at her catcher one more time.

Well, he can at least keep their secret for another two weeks. 

  

* * *

 

When Ginny bounds up to him, soaked in some horrific mixture of beer and champagne, her smile is incandescent. 

“We did it, pop!” she shouts, flinging her arms around him. 

Bill wraps her up in his embrace and soaks in the moment. His daughter, his little girl, all grown up. 

When she’s back on her feet, he smiles. “Little girl, you ain’t done nothing yet.” Somehow, her smile blooms even brighter, but Bill is distracted by something over her shoulder. He nods and says, “I think someone’s waiting on you.”

Ginny turns and looks right into Mike Lawson’s eyes. She softens a bit, victory still coursing through her veins but tempered by something longer lasting.

Then, his words seem to catch up with her. 

She whips her head up, panicked. Ginny at least has the good sense not to deny anything. “Pop, I can—”

“No.” He holds his hand up. “I don’t want an explanation. I just want to know one thing. Are you happy?”

“How couldn’t I be?” she responds, gesturing around to the carnage of the clubhouse, Padres still celebrating as family members and loved ones trickle in. Bill just waits, though, knows his daughter won’t avoid the real question. She straightens her shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. “Yeah, pop. He makes me happy.”

“Good,” he says gruffly, unwilling to make this into some kind of ordeal. “As long as that’s the case, we won’t have any problems.”

Mike chooses that moment to make his entrance. His gaze darts uncertainly between Ginny and Bill, but his question is just for her. “So, he knows?”

His daughter nods slowly. “He knows.”

“Good. Good. Because I’ve been waiting forever to do this in public.”

Before either Baker can blink, Mike scoops Ginny up by the waist, and spins her around the room. Automatically, Ginny’s legs wrap around his hips, her peals of laughter cutting through the celebratory ruckus. She only stops when Mike’s lips slant across hers, effectively cutting her off. Not that she seems to mind.

Raucous cheers flood the clubhouse, Padres banging on lockers and hollering their approval. Ginny hides her face in her hands, but Mike keeps staring up at her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to him. 

While Bill could do without the display of affection, he is glad to know that he and Mike Lawson are at least agreed on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I will admit to being deeply intrigued by Bill Baker (if only because I love Mike Beach) and want to know more about him. How good of a ballplayer was he? Why wasn't Will called Junior? What made him think it was okay to hit his son to get his daughter to perform? Obviously, the man had his flaws, and I want to know more.
> 
> Anyway, I will also admit to writing an idealized version of him for this. Maybe he'd have mellowed if Ginny actually made it all the way to the majors. Thoughts? Let me hear 'em here or over on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	27. i'm just human (don't judge me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladyinredfics: Ginny trying to handle it when she and Mike are together but not public and women hit on him while they’re out with the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Sherlock!Blip, outside POV, jealous!Ginny
> 
> chapter title: "Jealous" by Beyoncé

“You know, it doesn’t matter how long you stare, they’re not gonna burst into flames.”

Ginny nearly jumped, and Blip did his best to rein in his smile. Guilt and annoyance at his intervention flickered across her face before she managed to effect a smooth mask of indifference.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed, taking a dainty sip from her drink. And going straight back to glaring at the blonde leaning into Mike’s side.

(Completely ignoring the way Mike kept edging away from her.)

Blip eyed her critically, before dropping his gaze to her glass. A tequila sunrise. That was Ginny’s drink-to-forget cocktail of choice. Before this season, he rarely saw her order them. On team outings, she’d limit herself to two beers and call it a night. 

Recently, though, it was all tequila sunrise all the time. And a lot of them.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Especially when so much of Ginny’s attention lately seemed to be eaten up by the groupies constantly hanging off Mike Lawson. 

Like they sensed a going out of business sale, the groupies had really doubled down on Lawson this year. On the one hand, it gave the team something to rag him about that didn’t involve trades, Chicago, or his imminent retirement. On the other, it had turned Ginny into a seething ball of suppressed jealousy. 

Yeah, Blip knew all about Ginny’s feelings for their captain. They were pretty hard to miss. Though Lawson’s feelings were even more obvious. 

Not that either of them really noticed. Just stewed ineffectually whenever the other showed even the slightest interest in someone else. 

It wasn’t pretty and Blip was going to need it to stop before it spilled onto the field. 

“Ginny,” he said, gentle, thinking that an emotionally stunted adult was not what he’d had in mind when he told Evelyn he wanted a third kid. “You know he’s not interested in them, right?”

That seemed to jolt her. She whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. 

“What?” she stammered, knuckles going pale as she gripped her nearly empty glass. 

Blip rolled his eyes. “C’mon. It’s not like either of you are all that subtle.”

Ginny’s gaze darted back to Mike before shaking herself and focusing on Blip. After a long, hard look at him, she sighed and slumped a little. “How long have you known?”

“Since last season.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Last season? But that was before we even—” Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes went wide again. 

Blip leaned both his forearms against the bar, leaning in to try and make eye contact with his friend, though she seemed pretty dead set against that. “Before you even what?” 

“Nothing,” she answered, way too fast. She groped for her straw, slurping up the dregs of her drink and waving the bartender over. Completely ignoring the incredulous look on Blip’s face.  

“Ginny. Before you even what?”

Fresh tequila sunrise in hand, Ginny sucked it down in three quick gulps. Blip would be impressed if she weren’t doing it just to avoid answering. He stared her down. He knew Ginny was aware of what he was doing because there was a flush riding high on her cheeks. 

“So, something happened. You wouldn’t be this weird if it was really nothing.” Ginny kept staring down at her empty glass, so Blip kept going. “I'm thinking that the two of you lost sight of who you are—teammates—in favor of what you’d like to be. And maybe it was just once, but I don’t think you’re the type to get so jealous over a one time thing.”

Ginny’s chin ducked and Blip’s zeroed in on it. 

“No, you’re definitely not. Especially not if you know nothing could come of it. But if something has come of it...”

Ginny stared steadfastly at the racks of liquor behind the bar, but the tendon jumping in her jaw told Blip how close he was coming to the mark. He closed his eyes, hoping that he was wrong.

“Ginny, tell me you didn’t.”

She sighed in defeat and finally met his gaze. “I can’t.”

Blip slumped against the back of his barstool, head tilting up to the ceiling. “Are you serious? You know that there’s no good way for this to end. A fling with your outgoing captain? The press is gonna crucify you!”

“It’s not a fling,” she protested, rocking back from him in offense.

“Sure it’s not,” Blip snorted, taking a long drag from his neglected beer. 

“It’s not.” 

He wasn’t sure what it was that made him reassess. Maybe it was the quiet certainty in Ginny’s voice. The way she didn’t try to justify herself because she realized it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Maybe it was the fact that Mike chose that moment to look over at them, every one of his feelings for Ginny evident on his face. Ginny wasn’t even looking back, but like she could feel his attention, she smiled, soft and gentle. 

Maybe they were for real.

Blip certainly hoped so, and not just because the team’s dynamic was on the line. 

So, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out to see a message from Mike—“come distract this chick so i can get outta here”—Blip just tilted the screen toward Ginny and watched the smile spread across her face. 

After that, he stopped watching because he really didn’t need to witness two of his closest friends flirting with each other. And then probably leaving with each other. He really didn’t need to know anything about that. 

But if playing wingman meant that Ginny wouldn’t be glowering at everything that moved tomorrow, he would take one for the team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little shorty about Blip figuring Bawson out. Blip kinda got left in a lurch. I'm really gonna need him to do right by Evelyn, but lbr, the team puts him through a lot. If Ginny and Mike get it together, how much shit is Blip gonna have to deal with? So much. Let me know what you thought! Right here or over on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	28. forgetting is so long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: angsty angst. yelling at each other about anything and everything: ginny's pitching, mike's attitudes, their distractions with rachel and ginny's new boyfriend. them in each other's faces. but then passionate makeout, brushing it off, and 'we shouldn't have done that', and scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: angst, spring training, Ginny's second season
> 
> chapter title: ["Tonight I Can Write"](http://boppin.com/poets/neruda.html) by Pablo Neruda

It had been a long time since Ginny last set foot in the Peoria Sports Complex. Then, she’d been 18, fresh out of high school, with her father’s legacy to preserve and a world of naysayers to disprove. 

Now, she was 24 and had finished her first season in the bigs on the DL. Still had all the naysayers, though. 

She was, perhaps, the worst of them all. 

She still felt weak. Weak and foolish for refusing to leave that last game. 

(Honestly, the 36 hours preceding that game hadn’t been shining moments for her, either, but better to focus on baseball right now.) 

Her game didn’t feel up to scratch, not that she could say for sure. The only throwing she’d done was with her physical therapist, the Padres pitching coach on hand to monitor her mechanics.

Ginny still hadn’t decided if it was a good or bad thing that her first outing on an actual mound would be in the first pitchers and catchers workout of spring training. On the plus side, if things went badly, only the other pitchers and catchers would see. On the negative, she wouldn’t have Blip around for moral support. He was the only Padre she’d seen on a regular basis in the off season.

To be fair, most of them didn’t even stay in the city once the season was over. The few who did, she saw at her workouts at Petco, and that was it. Livan, Melky, and Sonny came in to work every so often, but everyone else either trained offsite or headed home for the winter. 

Everyone else. 

She was still trying to make up her mind as she pushed into the Padres Clubhouse, nerves nearly making her want to hurl. 

“Hey, Baker,” came her first greeting and she flashed a grateful smile at Sonny. 

After that, as her teammates and a few prospects she hadn’t met greeted her, Ginny’s stomach started to settle and she began to feel less like an interloper. 

She was still a Padre. She wasn’t a fraud. She’d earned her place here.

Still, she was uncomfortably aware that she had yet to greet at least one Padre. One Padre who’d gone radio silent the whole off-season. 

Not that that meant she didn’t hear about him. 

Or his wife. 

(No matter how many times she told herself she was happy for him, something in her stomach always roiled at the sight of Mike and Rachel splashed across glossy magazine spreads or taking up time on Entertainment Tonight. 

And yet, Ginny always found herself tuning in and picking up tabloids when she knew they’d be featured. Maybe she was a masochist or something.)

One Padre who happened to be sitting at his locker, his back to the room and firmly ignoring the hubbub behind him. 

Ginny hadn’t realized she’d been counting on him to set her at ease. To make things feel normal again. How often she’d dismissed the unreturned texts and phone calls as understandable: he wasn’t really her captain in the off-season, after all. 

(That she had to keep choking back the questions to Blip— _Is this normal for him? Does he always just disappear at the end of a season?_ —was something that only she knew.)

In spite of that, she’d thought that spring training would be some kind of magic reset button. The reporting dates would come, and they’d go back to the way things had been. Maybe not all the way back, considering the awkward tension that had sprung to life the moment his trade fell through, but somewhere close. 

That hope died, slow and agonizing and shrieking all the way down, as it became clear that Mike had no such intentions. He wasn’t going to greet her. He wasn’t going to joke. He wasn’t even going to turn around. 

He knew she was there and wasn’t going to acknowledge her.

Ginny’s smile went brittle, but she couldn’t afford to shut down the way she wanted. The way the suddenly frozen hunk of flesh inside her chest wanted her to. She turned away from him and forced herself to grin. “So, where are they putting me up around here? Do I get my very own broom closet?”

That prompted a wave of laughter and a clubby to step forward to show her the way. 

Before she went, though, there was one thing she had to do. Like ripping off a band aid. 

“Lawson,” she greeted as she passed him by, grateful that her voice remained steady in spite of the raging ocean of uncertainty swirling inside her. 

He twitched, like he thought about spinning his chair to face her, and ultimately didn’t deem it worth the effort. “Baker,” he replied instead, addressing his half-full locker. 

Neither of them said anything else, trying to adjust to the new reality they’d stepped into. 

Before stepping into her closet, though, Ginny allowed herself a glance over her shoulder. The sight of Mike Lawson’s back, expected now but jarring all the same, set something aside from her hope for normalcy shriveling inside her. Ginny stared until Mike’s shoulders hunched, like he could feel the weight of her gaze. Still, he didn’t turn. Didn’t shift. Didn’t look. 

With a sigh, she shut herself in her dressing room and tried to ignore the way she felt completely hollow.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Ginny managed to convince herself that things would change once the rest of the team showed up. That Mike just needed time to get used to her again as a teammate.

She endured three days of painfully awkward workouts. Mike hardly looked in her direction once, so Ginny naturally drifted to Livan, mostly happy to leave her captain to figure himself out. Maybe pull his head out of his ass. 

She was here to play ball, not make friends. 

(Particularly with someone who she’d thought was already her friend.)

Not that Lawson seemed to appreciate that. 

Several times, she caught him frowning as she and Duarte went through drills together, teasingly pushing each other to be better, work harder. He didn’t say anything about it, but on the second day, Besner, fresh off the DL himself, snagged her as a workout partner before Duarte even arrived. 

Ginny wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Lawson hadn’t acted particularly smug at the sight, gleefully informing his back up, “If you wanted to play footsie with Baker all day, you should have gotten here earlier.” 

By the time the rest of the squad reported the following day, Ginny had never been so happy to be even more outnumbered. The extra people would make for excellent buffers between her and Mike. With just the pitchers and catchers around, it had become increasingly obvious that they were avoiding each other. Or that he was avoiding her and she followed his lead.

Since no one had a death wish so early in the season, it remained an unspoken truth, but that almost made it worse. The silent, assessing scrutiny of her teammates piled on top of Mike’s avoidance had Ginny’s frustration building, slow and steady. 

She was confused and hated it. It shouldn’t matter that Lawson had pulled a 180 between last season and this. Ginny was used to that; guys that she played with all through her childhood suddenly turning on her for whatever bullshit reason. 

Those dismissals never spurred the roiling, insidious indignation and fury that Mike Lawson’s did. Every time he looked pointedly away from her or brushed off her questions, that bubbling stew of frustration boiled up, never quite subsiding. It would almost be better if he were obviously mad at her. Ginny could deal with anger, had been since she was a kid. 

It was easier to handle than pain.

But Mike was just— _blank_. Blank stares and bland responses every time he couldn’t avoid talking to her. 

And when she decided to just leave him alone, he’d trip her up with snide, sniping comments like he couldn’t stand not being the goddamn center of attention for once. 

Ginny started needling him, just to get a reaction on her terms, not that he often fell for it. When he did, it was nothing like their easy, teasing rapport from just months ago. It fell just short of vicious, but it was better than the yawning, gaping distance.

She didn’t know what the hell to do. Just that _something_ had to change. 

 

* * *

 

Ginny wasn’t sure whether Al didn’t notice the cold war—in that they hadn’t come to physical blows, there’d already been plenty of damage—raging between his captain and number five starter or if he noticed too much and was trying to nip it in the bud. Either way, her first start of spring training was with Mike behind the plate. They hadn’t worked together much in the bullpen and in spite of herself, Ginny would admit to some curiosity about whether or not any of their synergy from last season had survived. 

Any hope she’d been harboring was dashed when, before the game, he didn’t even bother going through the line up with her, just asked gruffly, “You check the scouting reports?”

“No,” she replied mulishly, though she’d spent at least two hours the night before watching game tape from last season. 

This in spite of the fact that Noah’d asked about a skype date. Several times in fact. Ginny’d complained about it to Evelyn, who’d tried to be sympathetic, but didn’t really see the problem. 

He didn’t even crack a grin. “Don’t be smart. You’re not here for your _brain_.” What would have been a joke last season, capped with a cheeky grin, was just a snide implication now. “You go over the reports?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and watched his jaw clench in annoyance. “Of course I went over the reports.”

“Glad you managed it with your busy social schedule.”

What the hell was he talking about? Before she could demand answers, though, he’d stalked off, probably to go have his spine prodded and pounded into the shape most humans, let alone pro athletes, required. Maybe cavemen were different, though.

She didn’t talk to him again until the top of the fourth, when she didn’t put quite enough curve on her slider and one of the Athletics really got a hold of it, driving in two runs. 

“Thought you went over the hitters,” he drawled, practically a taunt, as he finally dragged himself up the mound. 

Ginny bit her tongue to keep her mouth in check. She didn’t need a blow up with her captain her first game back. She held her glove out silently, waiting for him to relinquish the ball.

Thankfully, he didn’t have much else to say and went back to the plate in time for the next batter. 

She shook off his first three calls, unconvinced that Lawson had gone over batters for all he’d pestered her about it. Ginny knew Rachel was in town, had seen the redhead hanging around the complex. Had seen the soft grin Mike gave her when he caught sight of her, too. If it felt like a punch to the gut, that was only because Ginny’d nearly forgotten what Mike looked like when he smiled. 

Anyway, Ginny clearly wasn’t the one with the “busy social schedule.” 

Well. Mike Lawson could try and shift the blame onto her all he wanted, but Ginny was having none of it. 

After the fourth rejected call, Mike straightened from his crouch and stared her down. Ginny lifted her chin, jaw set. 

In defiance of the umpire—who was calling, “Lawson get back here!”—he stalked the sixty feet, six inches straight up to Ginny. 

For once, she could understand what made him such an intimidating figure to play against. He practically loomed over her, big forearms crossed over his chest protector. He looked big and fucking mean, ready to tear off someone’s head.

Her head.

Might as well do something to deserve it.

“Can I help you?” 

He glowered. “You wanna remind me who’s captain here? Who makes the calls and who follows along like a lost little duckling?”

If he’d looked her in the eye while he said it, Ginny might have let it slide, might have fallen in line. After all, his anger was nothing new. But his eyes were firmly fixed on a point over her shoulder, like she was beneath his notice, and she was spoiling for a fight.

Barely remembering to get her glove in front of her mouth, she answered, “Maybe I’d follow your calls if they weren’t fucking terrible.”

“What’s fucking terrible is that thing you call a slider.”

“Sorry the pitch I’ve only been working on for six weeks isn’t already up to your high standards. Although,” she paused, tapping her glove against her chin like she was thinking, “maybe you’d’ve known that if you took a look at it when I asked last week, _captain_.”

“Watch the lip, rookie,” he snapped, though Ginny knew it was just because she was right.

“Not a rookie, Lawson,” she spat back. 

“No? Well, you’re fucking acting like one. Pitching like one, too. Never thought I’d wish for Miller to come back. Maybe Oscar’ll come to his senses and put an end to the Ginny Baker circus, then we can get a pitcher who won’t leave every other ball hanging over the plate.”

Ginny ground her teeth, but bit her tongue. She told herself that was why her eyes were burning. The umpire looked like he was about to storm the mound himself and put an end to their jawing. Though she had half a mind to let him come out and chew out her captain, Ginny shook her empty glove at him instead. “Gimme the ball.”

Mike stared her down and smacked on his gum. Ginny would swear her blood began to boil, but he finally slapped the ball into her outstretched glove and stalked back to the plate. 

He put down the sign and Ginny shook him off again.

Across the sixty-odd feet, it was startling easy to see Mike’s eyes narrow in teeth-gnashing frustration.. 

Fucking good. The feeling was mutual.

 

* * *

 

Ginny and Mike’s cold war quickly heated. 

Rather than the stilted silence and avoidance that characterized the first weeks of spring training, Mike and Ginny were at each other’s throats. Constantly. About anything and everything. 

Ginny’s lackluster batting average: “You do any better back in T-ball or did you always strike out then, too?”

Mike’s three errors out at first: “All those foul tips must’ve scrambled your brain, old man. The goal is to field the ball, not let it roll through your legs.”

The huge bouquet of roses delivered to the clubhouse: “Are we finally putting Baker’s decorating tips to use? The place could use a woman’s touch.”

The four separate autographs Mike signed across women’s barely covered chests in one day: “You don’t have to pretend to be pissy, I’m sure that made your day. Or did you suddenly remember you’re not supposed to be enjoying the groupies anymore?”

It so easily could have been easy, light teasing. The kind of banter traded between two players to keep each others’ egos in check.

It wasn’t. 

It was sharp and direct, things said to cut deep into insecurities that only two people who really knew each other could hit. There was no pleasure in it, not for Ginny. Her gut churned with sick guilt every time she launched a barb and watched it burrow under Mike’s skin. 

Guilt because she was hurting him and guilt because it felt like she was betraying the friendship they’d built. 

(Sometimes, she wondered if she’d made it all up. If last season was just a dream she’d created to deal with the constant, low-level hostility coming from her team captain. 

Which was worse though? If their camaraderie and connection last season had been real, and this was what they’d become, or if it had never existed at all?)

There were lines they didn’t cross, but Ginny knew that the day was coming where one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

She didn’t want to know who it would be, just hoped it wasn’t her. Hoped it wasn’t something that would end up being the final straw, the thing that got her sent packing. 

What Mike had said on the mound—”Put an end to the Ginny Baker circus.”—had wormed its way into her brain and started spinning a dense, complex web of insecurities. Insecurities she suddenly felt foolish for not having considered before.

After all, Ginny was just a number five starter for a team that finished last season at the bottom of the division. To make matters worse, she was a woman—a black woman—whom many still thought was a disgrace to the game. Hell, some of her teammates probably still thought that, even if most of them wouldn’t say it to her face. She was under no illusions that Mike and Blip had sheltered her from the worst of it last season.

And now, it seemed, she was down an ally.

Ginny’s place on the team—last starter coming in off an injury—was tenuous enough without being labeled a “distraction” again. It wouldn’t take much to get her sent back down, especially with fewer people paying attention. Ginnsanity was finally wearing off, apparently.

It was freeing, in a way, but didn’t do much for her sense of security.

Sentimental as baseball was, it was a game rooted in tradition, and Ginny was about as untraditional as it could get.

Still, she’d always assumed that it didn’t bother Mike.

The way he was acting, now, though, maybe she’d been wrong.

 

* * *

 

The more Ginny thought about it, the less it made sense. And she’d been thinking about it far more than she’d ever admit. It ate at her, churning somewhere in the pit of her stomach. The more she tried to rationalize it, the less she had to focus on that growing pit and the steady, draining ache that lived inside it.

Mike was supposed to be happy. His wife had taken him back and he had a chance at a family again. The team was, well, not great, but it was only spring training; they’d figure it out. It was still his team, at least. He was supposed to be happy.

And yet, he was acting like a miserable fucking bastard.

Case in point: 

He’d just gotten through yelling at her for stopping at third rather than trying to score the run that would have tied the game. She ended up being stranded on base when Voorhies grounded out on a 3-0 pitch. 

Should she have run? Sure. 

Was she the only reason the Padres lost? Hell fucking no. 

Ginny did not need to sit there and be scolded like a child. And it was a scolding. Every single one of her teammates had slunk out of the room when Mike started up, which probably said something about how vicious he’d been lately. And how little they wanted to get caught in the blowback of her response.

“Are you done?” she asked, cold and dismissive. 

“Am I done?” he sputtered, face turning red. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Baker.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. 

Mike did not appear to appreciate that. At all. “What was that? I think you’d wanna show your captain a little respect, there,” he growled. 

“Yeah,” she replied, that one word dripping in condescension. “’Cause nothing earns my respect like being yelled at for a simple mistake.”

“I don’t earn your respect, Baker, I should have it automatically! I’m your fucking captain!”

Shoving to her feet, Ginny barely restrained herself from shoving him away. “God, you’re such a— such a—”

“What?” he taunted. “What am I, Baker? Spit it out!”

“You’re a fucking asshole!” she exploded, jabbing a finger against his chest. Ginny was so livid, she wasn’t really paying attention to what came out of her mouth. “I can’t believe that I thought—”

“That I was your hero?” he sneered. “Your goddamn poster boy? I bet you’re really regretting all those years you wasted, huh?”

That wasn’t what she was going to say, but the truth was more embarrassing. Crueler, too. 

 _I can’t believe that I thought you were_ worth _breaking my code_. 

Ginny wanted to say it, wanted to make him hurt as much as he’d made her over the past few weeks. She was pretty sure it would feel good, too. At least show him that she wasn’t without her defenses.

But she wasn’t going to bring that night from last August into this. If only because she didn’t want the soft glow it could still evoke—the warmth she sometimes wrapped herself up in when this new status quo threatened to break her—tainted by Mike’s ugliness.

That didn’t mean she was just going to roll over and let him think he’d won, though.

“I can’t believe I thought you were anything other than what I see.”

“And what exactly do you see?” he growled, drawing himself up like that would intimidate her into shutting up.

Think again, asshole.

Before she could lay into him, Buck wandered in. He stopped in his tracks, gaze darting between pitcher and catcher in halfhearted confusion. 

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Ginny replied, but she kept steady, unflinching eye contact with Mike, refusing to look away until she was sure he understood her. 

 _I see_ nothing _._

  

* * *

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ginny demanded, whirling on her scowling captain. 

It’d become an increasingly common question in Ginny’s internal thoughts, 99% of the time directed at the man in front of her. This was the first time she’d voiced it, though.

He’d been making sneering comments all night, drinking more than she was used to seeing. Every time she spoke with a man for more than 10 minutes or smiled at someone more than twice, his voice would raise, lamenting another poor schmuck who’d fallen for the Baker trap. 

After that last fight, they’d gone back to ignoring each other. Things were so civil that the rest of the team stopped holding their breath whenever they were in the same room. There were still moments where Ginny would think of something to say to him, open her mouth, and look up only to realize that he didn’t want to hear it. Since she wasn’t going to be the one who sent them back into DEFCON 1, she kept her mouth shut and got along with doing her job. 

If, sometimes, she could taste blood from biting her tongue so hard, she figured it was worth it for a shot to stay in the majors. She wasn’t about to give up her and her father’s dream for something as inconsequential as a guy disliking her.

(If the hollow, sucking ache in her stomach was a lesson, Ginny could learn to live with anything. Even the constant, bitter taste of disappointment that coated her tongue along with the iron tang of blood.)

Apparently, though, Mike had had enough of their self-imposed silent treatments. Things were finally starting to approach a new normal, but who cared about team dynamics when Mike Lawson was missing out on a chance to be a dick?

Finally, she’d had to ask him for a private word outside through clenched teeth. He’d taken a measured pull from his beer before agreeing and following her out a side door into a narrow alley. At least they’d been sheltered from prying eyes before Ginny let loose.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” he responded spitefully. 

Ginny was at a loss.

On the one hand: no, she didn’t have a boyfriend. Noah still called and he’d come out to Arizona a few times and they fucked a few more times than that, but they never discussed terminology. Ginny almost felt bad using him, but he was a really great distraction from her problems. 

Most of which were tied up in the man standing in front of her.

Which was the other hand.

Not that Mike deserved to know any of that.

“How’s that any of your business?”

“If tabloids decide to start running stories about you messing around and it fucks up your concentration, it’ll be my business,” he reasoned. Clearly, he’d put a lot of thought into this.

“That’s a big if, Lawson,” she ground out. 

“Besides,” he barreled on, like she hadn’t spoken, “I bet your whiz kid wouldn’t really appreciate finding out his girlfriend’s getting some on the side.”

“Getting some on the side? I talked to two separate guys in there for maybe ten minutes each. One of them said his boyfriend was a fan,” she spat, shaking her head to clear it. It didn’t work. “And anyway, Noah’s not my boyfriend!” Mike blinked, but didn’t respond, so Ginny kept going. “We’re seeing each other, I guess. Casual. I like him, okay? He’s—fine. None of your fucking business, but fine.”

Mike took a prowling step closer and Ginny felt her eyes go wide, annoyance bubbling over into something very different. 

“He doesn’t even rate a good?” he breathed, pressing into her space. Ginny backed up, but he kept coming, right up until her shoulders hit cool stucco. Her heart raced, like she was a cornered rabbit. 

That was why she wanted to lick a stripe up the tense column of his throat, too, right?

“The idea of you settling for anything less than fucking phenomenal, it kills me, Ginny,” he murmured hoarsely. There was still a current of anger running beneath everything; the set of his jaw, the rasp of his words. It licked against the seeds of frustration that had taken root in her, urging them into bloom. 

“What the hell do you care what I settle for, Mike?” she hissed, finally letting go of months of bitterness. “You have a _wife_  at home. You’ve made your choice very clear. That’s why you’re retiring at the end of the season, right?”

That, almost more than feuding and the words they’d never be able to take back, was what finally convinced Ginny to give up on getting Mike back on her side. When Al made the announcement to the team, she’d looked around in shock, but it didn’t seem like many other people were thrown for a loop. The new guys, mostly. Blip just shook his head in disappointment.

“I tried,” he’d mouthed at her apologetically, which was when Ginny realized. 

Mike had told them. Maybe individually, maybe as a group, but he’d given most of them a heads up of what was coming. Even Livan didn’t look all that excited at the news. Because it wasn’t news. They all knew. 

But not her.

“You’re leaving the game for her. You’re leaving your team for her. You’re leaving m—” here, she stumbled, hating the impassive look on his face but equally unwilling to let him off the hook, “ _me_  for her.”

She shook herself, raised her chin. “It’s not fucking fair, Mike. For you to treat me like shit for weeks. Months, even. For you to say these things to me when you have no intention of _doing_ any—”

Apparently, Ginny was wrong. Because Mike did intend to do something about it.

His lips crashed against hers, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head just before it thudded into the unforgiving stone behind her. The other clutched desperately at her waist, an anchor to drag his body into hers. His mouth moved hungrily against her and Ginny surged into him, weeks of frustration and anger spilling into the desire that she’d never quite managed to talk herself out of. 

While she’d had plenty of opportunity to think about the first time she kissed Mike Lawson, none of those fantasies even began to resemble reality. Ginny never thought he’d be kissing her in an alley or that she’d have been yelling at him just seconds before. She didn’t think that she’d hate him more often than she liked him, either, but that wasn’t enough to make her pull away. 

No, her hands wandered, stroking up his solid, broad chest, over his shoulders. Her nails bit into the flesh there, hard enough to draw a growl from Mike. In retaliation, his hips rutted up against hers, one thick thigh insinuating itself between hers until he could grind it against her aching core. 

Ginny nearly lost herself in the clash of teeth and tongue, his heavy weight crowding her into the wall, her fingers threading through slightly sweaty hair. 

Nearly.

What she couldn’t get over was the almost overwhelming taste of alcohol on his tongue. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she couldn’t forget that it was coursing through his bloodstream, hazing his thoughts. There was no way that Mike, sober Mike, would want to do this.

Would want her. 

Thankfully, because Ginny wasn’t sure she’d have been able to do it herself, not if this wasn’t going to ever happen again, Mike pulled away. Just far enough to drag air into his protesting lungs.

Her eyes flicked up to his, both their chests heaving as they caught their breath. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but Ginny knew she’d find a bleary, dreamy look. When Mike moved to close the distance again, she planted one hand against his shoulder and stopped him.

He jerked back, clearly surprised, and Ginny burned with shame. Had she been so fucking obvious with this stupid crush? This ridiculous infatuation that refused to die no matter how awful they were to each other. 

Why couldn’t it just die?

Why did she have to come so close to exactly what she wanted and have to say no?

“We can’t,” she murmured, aching with the desire to just plaster herself against him and say screw the consequences. Screw the fact that Mike was clearly running from something, not to her. 

Screw the heartbreak that would eventually come.

“Can’t we?” Mike grinned wolfishly and leaned in again. Ginny’s hand remained rooted against his shoulder.

“This was a mistake,” she breathed, her lips buzzing with both the residual warmth of him and the words they’d just formed. They were true, but they still shredded open the ache somewhere in her stomach. No more manageable discomfort; this might end her.

Ginny felt, more than saw, Mike tense, his face scant inches from hers. He jerked away. 

Had it always been so cold out here?

His laugh, when it broke into the space between them, held no mirth. It shattered like glass and cut just as deep. 

“Right,” he sneered. “A huge fucking mistake. Won’t happen again.”

Ginny swallowed and squared her shoulders. She raised her chin and looked him square in the eye. Like hell would she show him her pain. “Good.”

His gaze roamed over her face, inscrutable. Finally, he nodded, one jerk of his head. A death knell. “Good,” he echoed, backing away.

Before she could say something else, anything else, he’d turned and stalked off. 

Ginny didn’t watch him go. Why bother when he was already out of reach and had been for a long time?

Instead, she leaned against the cool stucco and tried to convince herself that the hole eating away her insides didn’t mean anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is angsty, right? I've honestly lost sight of what is/isn't upsetting. Both because literally everything in the world is currently upsetting and because I've been staring at this thing for too long. 
> 
> Anyway, did I miss the mark? Hit it? Mixed bag? Let me know with a comment here or a message over on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	29. she just does it because she likes you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [monkshoodr](http://www.monkshoodr.tumblr.com): Mike makes a hilarious blooper at first base and Ginny won’t let him live it down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: I tease you because I like you, Ginny's not great at emotions, Blip is tired

“That was number two on this week’s Not Top Ten, now let’s see number one.”

Ginny stifled a giggle, though she knew exactly what was coming next. She’d already watched the clip ten times. She could practically recite it word-for-word.

“Game two of the Padres-Diamondbacks series, Mike Lawson out at first manages to snag a line drive, only for the ball to fall right out of his glove. As if that’s not bad enough, he loses track of where it goes! Watch him turn around twice looking for it!”

A new voice cut in, clearly trying not to break on air. “Unfortunately, his feet do his glove’s work. The veteran catcher trips on the ball and goes down hard. Thankfully the play ended before he could hurt himself much more.”

She watched as Mike on the screen flipped the ball to Sonny covering first, all without climbing to his feet. He sat in the dirt for a few moments before making his way upright again. The camera panned to the dugout, where it caught Ginny practically doubled over in laughter. 

One of the SportsCenter announcers pointed her out.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones enjoying this play. That’s Ginny Baker, Mike Lawson’s teammate, finding the humor in the situation.”

The voices buzzed for a few more moments before cutting out, but Ginny was too busy remembering the way her sides had ached, that was how hard seeing Mike stunned in the dirt had made her laugh, to notice. 

When he’d come back into the dugout, she couldn’t help but stare at the dust caked to his ass. That quickly led to several not-so-idle thoughts about whether or not he was hurt and what it would be like to kiss him bett— _Nope_. Not going there.

Off-balance, she’d blurted, “You break a hip out there, old man?”

Salvi had snorted and Dusty offered her a fist bump, which Ginny took gleefully.

Mike just rolled his eyes, as he stashed his glove in favor of his batting helmet. “Hilarious, Baker,” he tossed over his shoulder before climbing out of the dugout again. He was on deck. 

The fact that his next hit was a smash deep over the right center wall meant most everyone forgave and forgot the error. 

Not Ginny, though. 

She asked Eliot to look out for any tweets about the error, and sent all the good ones straight to Mike’s official account. Ginny wasn’t sure that he checked it that often, but it’d be a nice surprise when he got around to it. She even pinned a tweet with a gif of Mike endlessly turning in confusion, like a dog chasing his tail, to the top of her feed. Every time she saw it there, she’d giggle and make sure to show it to Mike again. He, inevitably, would just roll his eyes and try to change the subject. 

Now, more than a week later, Ginny’s still left a King Size Butterfinger in his locker every day. Mike’s played first a couple of times since without incident, but Ginny made sure she ribbed him every single game. 

She got fewer laughs from the guys every time, but it felt good to tease Mike again. Felt good to even talk to him at all. 

Things had been... weird this season. Stilted and awkward. 

To be fair, she knew exactly why things were stilted and awkward. She wasn’t stupid. But Ginny’d found it was much easier not to talk about it if she didn’t think about it, either. 

But of course, trying not to think about something only guaranteed that it would be on her mind. Like all the damn time. Every other thought, it seemed, Ginny had to yank herself out of before it could lead her down a dangerous path. 

Which certainly didn’t make things any less awkward. She felt completely out of step with Mike and knew it was only a matter of time before other people started to notice.

Before it could come to that, though, Ginny'd made a discovery. 

Laughing at Mike, making fun of the stupid errors he made out at first, made it much easier to focus on him as her teammate rather than some ridiculous, hypothetical... _something_. 

Better to be breathless with laughter than wanting what she couldn’t have.

So, Ginny had reason to be in a good mood. She could finally look Mike in the eye again and things were slowly inching back towards normalcy. Maybe they’d be able to have an actual conversation in the near future without Ginny needing to either A) say something teasingly mean to distract herself or B) run away rather than do something very very stupid. 

She was feeling so pleased with herself that she didn’t even notice Blip’s presence at her dressing room door.

“Are you watching that SportsCenter clip again?”

Ginny shoved her phone in her pocket and whirled to face him. “No.”

It wasn’t really a lie. She wasn’t watching it anymore. 

“You need to lay off him, it’s getting old and it’s starting to bug him.”

Ginny frowned. Mike’s reaction to her teasing hadn’t really changed since she first busted a gut laughing at him. He’d roll his eyes or flick the brim of her cap, but didn’t bother responding much beyond that. 

Which. Now that she thought about it, was weird in and of itself. Mike Lawson passing up the chance for a smart-mouthed comment? 

Last season, it would have been unimaginable. 

Now, though...

“Mike’s a grown up,” she protested, more to silence the blooming doubt in her mind than in response to Blip. “If he couldn’t take a joke here or there, he wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Yeah, a joke or two. But when your favorite teammate suddenly can’t stop ragging on you? That’s gotta be pretty hard to deal with.”

“I’m not Lawson’s favorite.”

Blip looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a third arm. “I know it must be hard for you to see a world where _I_  am not everyone’s favorite,” he said, laying a hand dramatically against his heart, “but you’re clearly his favorite, Ginny.”

“No, I’m not!” she insisted, though she wasn’t sure why it was so important that Blip agree with her. 

Maybe because it was much harder to not think about _things_  with the added knowledge that she and Mike were each other’s favorites. 

Blip’s eyes narrowed, and Ginny had the irrational fear that he could read every single racing thought in her head. It wasn’t fair that in return, he had such a good poker face. She had no clue what was going on in that brain of his, just that he probably knew too much for his (and her) own good. 

Finally, he sighed. “You know how when you were a kid and you saw a little boy chasing after a little girl, trying to pull on her pigtails?”

“Yeah,” she replied, in the dark as to where this was going.

“And you know how everyone always said it was just because the boy had a crush on the girl and didn’t know how to tell her?”

She nodded, mortification setting in as she realized what Blip was driving at. 

Of course, he couldn’t just leave it up to her to figure out. No, he had to be crystal clear.

“Stop pulling Mike’s pigtails, Ginny. You’re not being subtle." 

A semi-hysterical giggle threatened to well up at the thought of Mike with pigtails, but she managed to keep it together. Still, Blip gave her one last significant look before leaving her in peace. 

She thought she’d been so slick, but if anyone was going to figure her out it would have been Blip. Out of everyone on the team, he definitely knew her best and probably held that honor for Lawson, too. It didn’t help that he loved a good mystery and was too observant for his own good. Ginny buried her face in her hands. At least he had the decency to tell her in private and she knew without a doubt he wouldn’t spill what he knew to anyone else. 

( _Well, almost anyone,_ Ginny realized not five minutes later as her phone buzzed with a bombardment of over-excited text messages before lighting up with a call when she didn’t respond fast enough. 

After all, a smart man didn’t keep secrets from his wife.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SportsCenter has some really weird segment titles, but I guess it works for them. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to monkshoodr for the great prompt! I feel like Ginny isn't really the type of person who has to deal with unrequited/unexpressed feelings (romantic or otherwise) all that often. We saw how she dealt with the knowledge of her mom's affair: throw herself into baseball. But when the object of her affections is so tied up in baseball, would the same thing work? Maybe, but I also really like the idea of her regressing to kindergarten tactics to hide her feelings. 
> 
> What do you think? Is Ginny too mature to respond like this? Let me know with a comment here or over on tumblr! (I'm megaphonemonday over there) Thanks for reading!


	30. the way things change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was told that [i guess it’s just as well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952989) needed a happier ending, so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Rachel POV, AU future!fic, canonballed
> 
> Chapter title: "Rivers and Roads" by the Head and the Heart

Having been to more of these events in her professional career than she could count, Rachel wasn’t sure what it was about this one that made her feel so visible. Her show has been getting fairly consistent ratings and she’s even been pulling in some big name guests. But this isn’t the visibility that comes with recognition; she knew what that looked like from a decade of being married to Mike. 

No, this was something more personal, more to do with the fact that this was the first time in a long time that Rachel Patrick was attending a function, personal or professional, without a date. 

Things hadn’t worked out with David, and Mike...

That ship had sailed long ago. 

She wasn’t sure what it said about her that she felt so exposed without someone at her side. Certainly nothing good. Maybe she’d have to take it up with her therapist...

Still, Rachel was here (nominally) to work, so she did her best to ignore her self-consciousness and mingle. And since alcohol was only going to help in that pursuit, she couldn’t really be blamed for coming back to the bar for another glass of wine. 

As she took a fortifying sip, her gaze flitting across the crowd of journalists, players, management, and league officials, her attention snagged on the one person who was even more visible than she was. 

Going stag—as had become routine since a very public breakup months ago—Ginny Baker looked much more at ease in the crowd than Rachel felt. It probably helped that she was only just 25, was arguably in the best shape of her life, and, oh yes, a few weeks ago had become a reigning World Series Champion. 

Although they couldn’t have had less in common, Rachel chose to take comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the only single woman at this thing.

“Congratulations,” Rachel said, sidling up to the young pitcher who was waiting for her drink. 

Ginny turned, her professional smile firmly in place and not dropping an inch when she realized who’d just spoken. 

“That was quite the series the Padres put on,” Rachel continued. “How did you feel having to go in as a reliever?”

Ginny’s mouth quirked a little in true amusement. “Off the record, or are you after a scoop?”

Rachel inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I’d prefer the scoop, but I’ll take off the record.”

Before Ginny could answer, or not, they were interrupted. 

“Baker, Evelyn wants to know what’s taking so long with the drinks,” Rachel’s ex-husband and Ginny’s ex-captain announced, sounding wary and gruff. 

Both women turned to look at him to find that he looked much the way he sounded. His gaze darted between Ginny and Rachel, clearly trying to get a read on the situation. He definitely lingered more on his former teammate, not that she seemed to notice. Instead, she turned back to where the bartender was just setting down two glasses. She picked them up and offered both Mike and Rachel a tight smile. 

“Got ‘em right here, so I’ll just,” she trailed off, nodding towards the crowd and inching away from the situation. 

Rachel watched her go with growing amusement, but when she shifted her focus to Mike, that amusement turned to something closer to pity. 

All the affection he’s been harboring for his young teammate was clear on his face. Affection and longing. 

Which was all well and good if Mike weren’t also completely ignoring her. So much for feeling too visible. 

“How’s retirement treating you, Mike?” Rachel asked, taking a pointed sip of her wine. 

He shook himself and finally turned his attention to her. She raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes. It felt so much like the end of their marriage that Rachel had to take a deep breath to keep from snapping something vicious.

“It’s fine,” he replied, jaw working side to side before softening. “It was nice to go out on a high note.”

Rachel was sure that it was, but that’s not what she meant. She eyed him shrewdly, waiting until Mike looked like he wanted to start fidgeting. “You been up to anything exciting?”

He turned back to the crowd, deceptively casual. If it weren’t for the way that his eyes automatically landed on Ginny and his face relaxed into a fond smile, she might have believed it. “Not that I can think of. Lots of press, lots of parties.”

“You know I’m not looking for a scoop, right?”

“Aren’t you? That’d be a first, Rach.”

She supposed that was fair. 

Still.

“How long are you gonna wait, Mike?” It took him too long to drag his gaze away from where Ginny was laughing with Evelyn and Blip Sanders, but Rachel waited him out. She’d done it often enough when they were married. “Ginny Baker’s not the kind of woman who’ll wait around forever.”

Inexplicably, Mike started grinning. Not the reckless thing she’d seen when he flipped his mask off in Game Six of the World Series when the Padres clinched their final win and not the uncomfortable one he never got past with her parents. No, this was Mike with a secret. 

To Rachel’s annoyance, he didn’t offer an explanation. Just said, “You’re right. Good to see you, Rachel,” and strode off into the crowd. 

The reporter in her watched even as the rest of her wanted to look away. 

Mike walked straight up to the little knot of friends, offering the Sanders a quick grin and Ginny something only marginally softer. The pitcher’s responding smile was bright and open, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. 

Rather than drawing her away, to privacy, though, Mike let himself melt into their circle, looking perfectly at ease. 

When a fifth person entered the group, someone Rachel recognized as a league bigwig, both Ginny and Mike took an unconscious step closer to each other. Instead of addressing the group as a whole, the interloper zeroed in on Ginny. Though Rachel couldn’t hear him from her spot across the room, she knew a loud talker when she saw one. The man gestured grandly, his drink nearly escaping the confines of his glass. 

The longer the man kept talking, swaying into her space, the more pronounced Ginny’s discomfort became. Ginny’s smile became more wooden, tension flooding her bare shoulders and neck. The smile became a grimace and then a mere baring of teeth, eyes flashing. 

Before she could snap, though, Mike intervened. 

Not that anyone who wasn’t watching like a hawk would have noticed. 

His hand came up to cup her elbow, just a quick, reassuring touch, but all the tension in Ginny’s shoulders seemed to melt away. She darted a grateful look at him before taking a deep breath and turning back to the man who’d interrupted them. 

Eventually he moved on and the two shared an exasperated look before turning back to Blip and Evelyn. 

Rachel frowned. Surely Mike was itching from Ginny’s mere proximity. Where was the urgency? Where was the discreet look that led to a private conversation? 

But no. 

Mike looked as if he was just happy to be in Ginny’s vicinity.

Rachel knew what Mike looked like when he was in love, but mostly, she knew what he looked like when he was _happy_. And there was no way that he was this happy if hadn’t already made his move, laid all his cards on the table, and the gamble hadn’t paid off.

The smile he directed at Ginny, the way he gently bumped her with his hip, that was familiar, but to see him do it to someone who wasn’t _her_ made the breath catch in Rachel’s throat.

Rachel’d spent a good part of her time as a journalist learning to read body language. After all, interviews were just as much about what the subject didn’t or wouldn’t say as what they did. With all that practice, not to mention the fact that she still knew Mike like the back of her hand, Rachel knew what she was seeing. Even if what she was seeing didn’t match up with what she’d known.

Yes, Ginny Baker was still the first and only female pitcher in Major League Baseball. Yes, Mike Lawson had been her mentor and captain. Yes, they happened to be in love with each other. Those things remained true.

What wasn’t true: Neither of them had admitted their feelings to the other. 

The way they reacted to each other, their awareness of where the other was at all times, that didn’t just happen. And while they could maybe play it off as the trust shared between a pitcher and her catcher, Rachel knew better. 

Mike had made his move. Rachel didn’t know when or where, but he’d done it and gotten the response he wanted. 

Maybe they weren’t making it public yet, but Mike and Ginny were more than ex-teammates, and more than just friends. 

Honestly, Rachel wasn’t sure what to do with this information. 

On the one hand, this was the kind of scoop that most journalists dreamed of. Breaking the news that the most famous baseball player in the country was dating her former captain? That was what moved reporters from dinky little late night shows to prime time. 

On the other hand, this wasn’t just an exclusive. This was Rachel’s ex-husband, and the only reason she’d even sniffed the story out was her intimate knowledge of him. Her producer was going to need more evidence than her gut instincts.

And anyway, could she really let herself be the reason for upending Mike’s life? Again?

Shaking her head, Rachel turned back to the bar and waved down the bartender.

She couldn’t report on what she didn’t see.

Did it feel good? No. But it was right.

She was honest enough to admit, if only to herself, that seeing Mike find the happiness that she’d once wanted with him cut deep. At the same time, Rachel knew that if anyone deserved that happiness, it was her ex-husband. 

And if Ginny Baker was the one who gave him that, then Rachel would have to live with that. 

But she was definitely going to need another drink while she tried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly forgot that I was supposed to write a less angsty take on this prompt, so sorry for the long wait. For anyone who didn't forget that this was on the way. 
> 
> Anyway, was this better, kids? More in line with what you were thinking? Let me know!


	31. only operating with half my burners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monkshoodr: Ginny moves out of the hotel and can’t get room service, so Mike volunteers to teach her to cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Kitchen Disaster Ginny Baker, Post-Season 1, cooking lessons, pining
> 
> Chapter title: Julia Child quote, "But I was a pure romantic, and only _operating with half my burners_ turned on."

“You’re hiring caterers for your housewarming party?”

Ginny tossed him a look and shrugged, going back to emptying out another box. This was the third, as far as Mike could tell, that was full to the brim of lycra-based work out gear. Yet, Ginny’s dresser was still only half-full. He shook his head and went back to folding her fitted sheets. 

When he’d agreed to help Ginny move into her brand new condo, he’d thought it would involve driving some stuff around, carrying a few boxes to spare her still-healing arm. What he hadn't expected was to give into her kicked puppy expression and actually help unpack her stuff. He knew he should’ve stayed away when he found out the computer geek had broken things off. It would have been so much easier to resist if he’d known someone would be around to help her out. With Blip and Ev out of town, that apparently fell on him, now.

Well, at least they’d already set up the living/dining room. They just had to tackle her bedroom and Mike could escape. 

(All he knew at this point was that he was eternally grateful that her bed had yet to be delivered. If he was going to play house with Ginny it was only self-preservation to stay far, far away from horizontal surfaces.)

“You know it’s only going to be like twenty people, right? And none of them are expecting a four-course meal.”

He wasn’t sure how, staring at the back of her head, he knew Ginny was rolling her eyes, but she definitely was. When she finally turned away from her dresser drawers, the annoyed look on her face confirmed it.

“Well, if they want to eat anything at all, then catering is probably a good idea,” she huffed, pushing her mess of curls away from her face. 

They hadn’t unpacked her kitchen yet, but Mike figured she’d already done that or they’d get around to it. But maybe there wasn’t really anything to unpack.

Following a hunch, Mike dropped the pile of linens in his arms and clattered down the stairs from Ginny’s lofted bedroom. 

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

Mike didn’t answer, just headed towards the state of the art kitchen tucked into a corner of the condo. There was a toaster and a VitaMix sitting on the counter, but the burners on the stove were spotless. He tugged open drawers and found silverware and a few wooden spoons, but not much else. Cabinets yielded dishes, and one sauce pan, but no baking sheets or roasting pans or anything that even poorly stocked kitchens had. 

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked, a hint of humor coloring her words. 

Mike looked up at her in abject horror.

“Where’s all your kitchen stuff?”

Her brow furrowed. “Did you not hear me before? Need to replace the batteries in your hearing aids?”

Ignoring the jibe, Mike just gestured vaguely around him, encompassing the whole kitchen. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t know how to cook? At all?”

“Yes.” When Mike continued to stare, Ginny’s arms crossed defensively. “I’ve been a little busy, you know. Not all women are Julia Child reincarnated.”

It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

Still, she frowned at him. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I automatically know how to cook,” Ginny repeated, chin tilted up at him in challenge.

“Not because you’re a girl, Baker, but because you’re an adult. You’ve been living on your own since you were eighteen, how do you feed yourself?”

“There’s this thing called take out,” she sassed, hopping up on the counter and swinging her legs casually, heels drumming against the mostly empty lowers. “Also, frozen food has really come a long way since your time, old man. There are whole meals in the freezer aisle and everything.”

At that, Mike whirled and flung open her refrigerator. Inside, she had a decently stocked crisper and more grape soda than God, but little else. The freezer, on the other hand, was full of sad frozen dinners. 

“When was the last time you cooked something that didn’t come in a box with microwave instructions on it?”

Ginny frowned in thought. Mike thought she was just pulling his leg until she replied, “When I was twelve I made chocolate chip cookies for my teacher.”

“It’s been more than a decade?”

“Well, it went really badly!” she exclaimed, shoulders hunching defensively. “They tasted horrible! Will still thinks I just mixed up the sugar and the salt, but it seemed better for everyone if I avoided the kitchen. Less chance for food poisoning.”

Mike just shook his head. “So, you’re just gonna let this beautiful kitchen go to waste? Never let it make all the home-cooked meals it was destined to?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “If I want home-cooked food, that’s what Evelyn’s for. Evelyn, who actually likes cooking and feeding people. Who likes it so much she was willing to take on my brother as a business partner to open a restaurant.” 

She said it lightly, but Mike knew the sting of her brother’s departure and dishonesty was still fresh. 

So, because he couldn’t have his rookie feeling sorry for herself and he needed a project for the off-season since things hadn’t worked out with Rachel—and, okay, maybe a little bit because he hated seeing Ginny sad—Mike said, “Well, that’s just sad, Baker. Even I have figured out how to feed myself.”

“Your housekeeper leaves you food and you know it,” she accused, a teasing smile lighting up her face. She even leaned forward, far enough that Mike tensed, ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “but I still know how to feed myself, and I’m gonna teach you.”

That had Ginny rocking back, eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “Are you, now?”

Mike shrugged, aiming for casual, not that he was all that good at casual where Ginny was concerned. 

“You are my rookie. At least ‘til spring training. Gotta make sure you don’t starve before next season.” 

Her head tilted as she considered his offer. Mike told himself not to fidget even as the silence spun itself out around them. Finally, though, a full, dimpled smile began to spread across her face. 

“All right, old man. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

* * *

 

Honestly, Mike never thought he’d regret spending more time with Ginny. Curse himself for walking into a situation where he constantly has to remember that they’re teammates and friends and _nothing else_ , sure, but not regret. 

And then he started giving Ginny cooking lessons. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Ginny, who could barely manage to sit still in the dugouts between innings, would be even worse in the kitchen, but Mike certainly hadn’t expected her to be _this_ bad. 

She wanted to run before she could walk, making substitutions when she didn’t have the correct ingredient and ignoring recipes in favor of doing what seemed right in the moment. Considering the fact that Ginny had no knowledge of what _was_  right—aside from what food looked like before it disappeared into her black hole of a stomach—this led to some interesting results. 

By interesting, Mike of course meant completely inedible. 

It didn’t matter what they were making, anything Ginny touched managed to turn into some horrifying mishmash of conflicting flavors and char. Which was why Mike had practically become her personal chef. Which wasn't even what he regretted. What he regretted was not worrying about how she'd managed to survive before this. Far better to keep her fed than worry about whether she was really paying attention to the lessons. 

What? She had to eat to keep up with all her PT.

“My arm hurts,” she whined, trying to get him to take the potato masher.

Mike just snorted and kept carving. “I’m gonna remember that next time you beg me to long toss with you—against the advice of your doctors.”

Diligently, Ginny went back to mashing. Mike shook his head, but he could feel an affectionate smile tugging at his mouth. God, she made it hard to keep his distance. 

As long as she continued to be a disaster in the kitchen, Mike wouldn’t have to. 

Although, he’d seemed to have found one thing that Ginny couldn’t mess up. Setting her to mashing potatoes as he took care of roasting the chicken and asparagus had been a stroke of genius if he did say so himself. It let her take out some of her frustrations with the slow progress of her physical therapy and even build up some strength in her arm again. It also kept Ginny from getting her fingers in everything and ruining what was shaping up to be a delicious dinner. 

For which Mike was thankful when they finally sat down at the cluttered dining room table to eat. He could only take so many poorly seasoned, burnt dinners. 

Even if the company was excellent. 

So excellent, in fact, that dinner passed in a haze of laughter and a warm, contented feeling. Not that it really worried Mike. That was just par for the course for evenings with Ginny. 

As he helped her clean up, though, things took a turn. 

“Do you want to bring some home?” Ginny asked, drying off her hands and pushing herself up to sit on the counter.

“Nah,” he replied, stacking tupperware in her fridge. There was still too much grape soda in it, but at least she had real food, too. “You keep it. Who knows the next time you’ll manage to make something even close to edible.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but her jaw still worked side to side. It was a tell. For when she was trying to decide how to say something. Mike waited her out. 

“Won’t Rachel want some?”

Mike frowned and turned to give her his full attention. Her legs swung restlessly and her fingers tapped silently next to her thighs. Maybe it was just more of her boundless energy escaping, but something made Mike think otherwise. The way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye and she chewed on her lip, maybe.

“No,” he replied slowly. “I assume she made dinner for herself.”

Ginny threw him a confused look. “You didn’t check with her?”

“No,” he repeated. “Why would I?”

“She’s your wife, Mike,” she huffed and Mike started to feel like they were having two separate conversations. 

How did she not know that things hadn’t worked out with Rachel? He’d told Blip, which meant that Evelyn knew, which meant that everyone probably knew. 

But not Ginny, apparently.

“Ex-wife.” When Ginny flapped her hand impatiently, Mike continued, “We finalized last month.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide and her legs stilled. She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Oh,” in a small voice. “I wondered why she didn’t mind you being over here so often.”

“Oh, she minded,” he replied, finally garnering a small grin from Ginny.

“Did she have a reason to mind?” she asked, looking up at him shyly.

Mike sighed, but closed the distance between the refrigerator and where Ginny sat. He stepped close to her, her knees nearly brushing up against his hips. He itched to touch her, but knew that if he did, there’d be no turning back. While he’d tried to respect her decision, be there for her as a captain and a friend, Mike couldn’t deny that he wanted more with her. And the minute he got to touch her, gentle and deliberate, he wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this, Ginny,” he breathed. 

He had just enough height on her like this that she had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye. She licked her lips, dragging in a ragged breath when Mike’s gaze flew to follow the movement. 

“I didn’t,” she replied hoarsely, “but I think I changed my mind.”

She tilted her chin and their mouths came even closer. Close enough that her warm breath gusted against his lips and through the beard surrounding it. Mike’s hands came down on the counter, just next to where hers curled over the edge. He could feel her heat bleeding into him, but they still didn’t touch. 

“You think, or you know?” He had to know. “Because, Ginny, if you’re not sure—”

“I know.”

Her slender pinkies stretched out just as she interrupted him, curling over his fingers and twining them together. The breath Mike hadn’t realized he’d been holding gusted out of him and he gave in to Ginny’s gravity. 

When his lips finally connected with hers, she was smiling, wide and bright. Not that Mike minded. Not when he was finally kissing Ginny Baker. His hands came up to cup her face. Hers tangled in his belt loops, dragging him closer.

He pulled away and Ginny was still smiling, so he couldn’t resist dropping one more kiss to her lips. His thumbs stroked over her cheeks gently before dropping to rest more comfortably at her waist.

“You’re really sure?” he asked, still reeling a little.

Ginny’s head tilted in amused exasperation. When it became clear Mike actually needed an answer, her fingers untwined from his belt loops to wind into his beard. Patting at his cheek fondly, she nodded. “I’m sure.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, Mike turned and pressed a kiss to her palm. 

“So, was it my excellent cooking skills that made you change your mind?” he joked. Couldn’t let Ginny think that he’d completely give up being an asshole. “You realized that there was no other way you’d keep yourself fed and had to lock me down?”

Ginny rolled her eyes again, but a flash of something—guilt?—passed over her face and she looked away. Mike rocked back, not far enough to stop touching her, but at least he could duck and look in her face. 

“Ginny?”

She peeked up at him, a flush riding high on her cheek bones. She chewed on her lip guiltily before straightening. 

Still avoiding his gaze, she quietly admitted, “I maybe over-exaggerated how much help I need in the kitchen.”

“What.” 

“Like.” Ginny ruffled her hair and Mike had to actively try to pay attention to the matter at hand and not the way her curls bounced against her slender neck. “I didn’t actually need you to show me how to make spaghetti three separate times.”

“Seriously?” 

“I’m an adult, Lawson. I know that ketchup isn’t an acceptable substitute for marinara sauce.”

In retrospect, he probably should have been suspicious, but it wasn’t as if Mike was really going to examine the reason he got to spend so much time with Ginny. 

He started laughing in disbelief, Ginny joining in after a moment. 

As he caught his breath, his hands slid down to curl around her hips. “You couldn’t have just told me you wanted me around?” he smiled.

“I thought you and Rachel were still working it out!” she defended, though her arms twining around his neck undermined the peevishness in her voice. Ginny smirked, sly and sexy as hell. “I knew you wouldn’t risk me poisoning myself, though.”

“You’ve got me there,” he conceded, giving in and kissing her again. 

“Hope I’ve got you more places, too,” she murmured cheekily against his lips.

Mike didn’t answer, not out loud, anyway. He was too busy learning her every breath and sigh as his tongue tangled against hers. Too busy reveling in the way her blunt nails scraped lightly on the back of his neck and her thighs tightened around his hips. 

Inside though, he responded, _Anywhere and everywhere you want me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love the Ginny Baker that was so focused on making it to the bigs that she didn't have time for anything else and subsequently has to learn how to be an adult, now. But, even more maybe, I love tricky, sly Ginny Baker who knows what she wants and is gonna get it come hell or high water. She's multi-faceted that way. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to monkshoodr for the prompt and all the excellent feedback she provides!! Hope you like this one :)
> 
> As for the rest of you, let me know what you thought!


	32. used to be my childhood dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladyinredfics: how did a girl in North Carolina end up with a San Diego Padre as her favorite player?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Bawson adjacent, Season 1 missing scene, between "The Break" and "Alfonzo Guzman-Chavez"
> 
> chapter title: "This Used to Be My Playground" by Madonna (AKA the credits song from A League of Their Own)

“So, a little birdy told me you have a favorite movie.”

Ginny shifted in her seat, careful not to let her practiced smile drop an inch. 

“Oh really? Should I be worried about all my secrets coming out?”

The interviewer laughed and out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Amelia smile in approval. “No, no. Nothing like that! Would you mind sharing?”

“I guess it shouldn’t be much of a surprise,” Ginny began, wondering how soon this interview would be over. “Growing up, I really loved _A League of Their Own_. I actually wanted to be a catcher before my dad convinced me to try pitching. I guess I’m pretty lucky he did.”

The interviewer smiled and moved on. Thankfully, there were only a few questions left before the producer called a wrap and the camera crew began to pack up their gear. While Amelia ran through a few last concerns for the segment, Ginny slipped out of her dressing room and into the clubhouse. 

“You wanted to be a catcher, huh?” the smug drawl interrupted Ginny’s thoughts, making her jolt in surprise.

She whirled on her captain, who lounged casually against the wall next to her door. 

“Don’t you have an ice bath to get to? Instead of eavesdropping on my conversations?” Ginny snipped, eyeing Mike critically as she took up a post on the wall opposite. 

He certainly was dressed for an ice bath, wearing the ragged shorts and sweatshirt that were more modesty preservers than anything a person actually _wore_. Not, as Ginny had learned, that Mike had much modesty to speak of. 

The man’s ego knew no bounds. 

“It’s not a conversation when it’s with a member of the press. I gotta make sure you’re not bad-mouthing us, rookie.”

“Shouldn’t you be making sure there isn’t anything for me to bad-mouth?”

He frowned, like he hadn’t considered that, before shaking his head. “Don’t try to distract me. You didn’t answer the question.”

“Maybe I’m tired of answering questions.”

Mike nodded, folding his arms across his chest. But of course that didn’t mean he would let her have this one. 

“Too bad I’m gonna ask, anyway.”

The thud of Ginny’s head against the cinderblock wall nearly drowned out his smugness. 

“C’mon, Baker,” he wheedled, his voice getting closer. Great, he was standing next to her, now. She tipped her chin down to glare at him, but he just grinned as charmingly as he could. Which was pretty fucking charming. “You decided to switch positions because you didn’t want to compete with me, right?”

“Nope,” she replied dryly. “Didn’t want to get lumped into a category with the likes of you.”

He turned away, hissing for effect as his hand came up to clutch at his heart. “You cut deep, rookie.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, pleased she’d come up with anything that wasn’t the truth. 

Because the truth of the matter was: she had given up catching because of Mike. But not out of a competitive drive. 

She’d liked baseball well enough. Liked sitting with her dad to watch games as he explained the rules. Liked running the bases and learning when and how to steal. But mostly, she liked hunkering down behind the plate as her dad delivered pitch after perfect pitch to her mitt. 

When he realized that she wasn’t just using her time to study his technique, he’d started to worry. Ginny spent less and less time behind the plate and more and more out on the mound. Pitching was fine, but it wasn’t as fun as catching. She liked being able to see the field, run the plays. She liked being in charge. It didn’t matter what her dad said or how often he tried to distract her, Ginny liked catching.

Besides, her favorite player was a catcher. 

Which, ironically enough, was how her pop finally convinced her to pitch.

The day she tacked up the Mike Lawson poster over her bed, her father watched warily from the door. They’d gone to the mall to get oil for her glove and a new set of laces for her cleats, but Ginny’d seen the poster and practically refused to budge. He’d just been appointed as an All Star for the first time, though she’d been a fan since his debut in the bigs. 

(The memory of it is clear as day. 

She was sitting on the floor of the living room, studying for her weekly spelling test. Her pop sat in his armchair. Naturally, the TV was on, tuned to baseball. 

Ginny would never know what made her look up from memorizing the word “lumberjack,” but she did. 

Just as Mike Lawson stepped up to his first major league at bat. He’d just been put in the inning before—a double switch to give an untested closer and catcher some game time with the Padres down 1-11. Even with her mind on other things, her pop had trained her to pay attention to baseball.

She watched him swagger up to the plate, entirely too confident for a rookie back up catcher, but there was something about him that even her eight-year-old brain recognized as potential.

She watched him swing at the first pitch, way ahead of the changeup. From behind her, her pop snorted, but Ginny kept her eyes glued to the screen.

She watched him wait out the next three, sinking himself into a 2-2 count but never losing that confident smirk.

She watched the pitcher deliver another one and a spark of awareness shuddered down her arms, raising her hair. This was it. 

She watched Mike Lawson come to the same conclusion, his bat coming down to meet the fastball and sending it sailing way back. Over the pitcher’s head, over the shortstop, over the centerfielder, and finally, over the wall. 

Her spelling list lay forgotten on the floor as the rookie catcher trotted around the bases, two of his teammates ahead of him, three runs ticking up on the board.

The Padres still lost, but Ginny never forgot the smile—not smirk, a real, true smile—on Mike Lawson’s face when his foot touched home.)

(For his part, Bill Baker wasn’t particularly picky about the baseball he watched. He preferred the National League over American and rooted for whoever was playing the Yankees. Otherwise, though, baseball was baseball. 

If he noticed that his daughter had slightly more pronounced leanings, he figured that eight was as good a time as any to pick a favorite team. When eight became nine became ten and eleven and her admiration of the Padres’ catcher turned into an infatuation, he decided to let her mother deal with it.)

Her father, for all he believed in tough love, had just rolled his eyes and told her to pick one out if it would get them back to practicing any quicker. 

She was just smoothing down the last corner when her pop spoke. 

“You know, little girl, there’s a chance you could play with him if you really put your mind to it.”

Twelve-year-old Ginny’d turned, grinning. “You really think he’ll play that long?”

Bill Baker just shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Though, you’ve got a better shot if you’re not playing the same position as he is. Not likely a man’s going to be very nice to the person coming for his job.”

She’d turned that bit of information over and over in her head and made up her mind. 

Which ended up bringing her to this very moment. Standing in the clubhouse of the San Diego Padres with her captain and mentor as a camera crew cleared out of her dressing room. 

“You’re an easy target, captain,” she teased. “Slow moving, too.”

He elbowed her, scowling without any real heat, before pushing off the wall to go take his delayed ice bath. As he went, Amelia came out of the dressing room and they nodded to each other, though Ginny missed the way her agent’s attention lingered on Mike. Mostly because her own attention lingered on him, too.

When she did look to Amelia, there was a considering look on her face. Ginny tried not to be bothered by it. Amelia had that look on her face at least five times a day. 

“Everything good?” Ginny asked, nodding to where the interviewer and her producer were just leaving her changing room. 

“Yes. They should have everything they need for when the package airs tomorrow,” Amelia replied, quashing any of Ginny’s concerns. “How about you? Everything fine?”

For once, Ginny didn’t answer automatically. She actually considered her response first. 

Sure, her father never got to see her make it to the show, but she was here. She’d proved him right. 

In more ways than one since she actually got to count Mike Lawson among her friends. 

Maybe she would’ve made it as a a catcher, but if the way Mike had reacted to the news of Livan Duarte being signed, Ginny would bet that he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to welcome her. 

So, she smiled at her agent and replied, “Couldn’t be better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to ladyinredfics/Lady_in_Red for this prompt, which let me incorporate my favorite movie ever. 
> 
> Listen, I love Pitch to death, but A League of Their Own is probably my favorite piece of media ever. It is my desert island movie. So, of course I'm going to headcanon Ginny loving it, too. Also, there's no way Mike doesn't try and shoulder his way into all her interviews before the one with Rachel. At first, it's just to keep an eye on things, but it quickly becomes an outlet to let out all his gushing feelings about Ginny. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to hear what everyone thought! Either in the comments or on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask)!


	33. out there on the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monkshoodr: how they deal with the first spring training after Mike retires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: retired!Mike, spring training, miscommunication as a plot device
> 
> chapter title: "Such Great Heights" by The Postal Service (but really the Iron & Wine version)

“I could come with, you know,” Mike offered, trailing along behind Ginny as she bustled through the house, gathering up her belongings. 

She did, in fact, know. He’d offered with increasing regularity since the beginning of January, but first floated the idea around Thanksgiving. At first, she thought he’d been joking; he’d made such a big deal about retirement meaning he could leave his jet-setting ways behind him, finally stay put for more than a few months at a time. Why would he want to uproot himself again just to follow her out to Arizona for a month and a half of spring training?

Ginny didn't respond, just turned back to the fretting retiree behind her and loaded up his arms with more stuff.

Christ. How had so much of her crap ended up over here? 

(It probably had something to do with the fact that Ginny wanted to leave even less than Mike wanted her to, for all she was better at pretending to be an adult about it.)

Mike obligingly took her belongings but didn’t haul them up to his room as he’d been doing all afternoon. Instead, he stared imploringly. 

“Mike, we talked about this,” Ginny sighed, plucking up the sweatshirt she’d left on the back of the couch. It hadn't been hers two months ago, but it sure as hell was now. “We haven’t gone public, yet. Now is not the time.”

“You’re staying in my house for all of spring training, Gin. Don’t you think that’ll tip someone off?”

She ignored the wheedling and did one last sweep of the room. Her flight for Arizona left in the morning, and she was still trying to pack. To be fair, she’d started the task at least a week ago; she just hadn't gotten very far. Mike seemed to have a sixth sense for every time she opened up her suitcase, coming along with something that needed her immediate attention.

Thinking about it now, that was probably intentional. 

“I stayed at your house the last two seasons, too. Along with you and Blip and even Sonny the week his rental sprang a leak,” Ginny reminded her boyfriend, climbing the stairs to the bedroom and her waiting suitcase. “No one had a real problem with it then.”

There was plenty of jeering innuendo, of course, but nothing that posed an actual problem. Ginny’d long resigned herself to ignoring the innuendo that followed her everywhere if it didn't make trouble in the front office or the clubhouse.

If only Mike were as easy to ignore.

He’d followed her upstairs, not that she expected much else when he'd spent the last week studiously refusing to let her get more than three feet away from him, and dumped her stuff unceremoniously on the bed. Rather than collapse dramatically on the mattress himself, though, he came to hover just behind her as she folded another pair of leggings. 

“Well,” he said, winding his arms around her waist and hooking his chin over her shoulder, “maybe I’ve got a problem with you living in my house.”

Ginny arched a brow for all Mike couldn’t see it and continued packing. She couldn’t give in or she’d never be ready in time. “Then I guess I’m leaving just in time.”

“You know what I mean,” the man practically whined. He turned his face into her neck, dragging his freshly trimmed beard against sensitive flesh. His lips ghosted over her pulse point, curving as Ginny failed to suppress a shiver. “I’ve got a problem with you living in my house when I’m not there to supervise.”

“Supervise?” Ginny turned in his arms at that, smirking a little. “Is that what this is?”

Mike’s responding grin was downright dangerous. When he didn’t bother answering, just leaned down to capture her lips, Ginny knew packing was going to be put off. 

Again.  

 

* * *

 

When Ginny finally got a chance to collapse into bed, she tried to remember if she’d ever been this tired after the first work out of spring training. She doubted it. 

Then again, she’d never had such a good reason to stray from her strict exercise regimen over the off-season. Ginny couldn’t bring herself to regret the temporary ache in her muscles when it was just testament to how well she’d wrapped herself up in cozy intimacy since October.

It didn’t hurt that she’d been in pretty good company.

Which: Speak of the devil. 

Ginny’s phone vibrated on the bedside table. With a groan, her abs and thighs and shoulders protesting all the way, she rolled over and answered without checking the screen. She knew who it would be. 

“Hey, old man,” she sighed, snuggling into the cool pillow as she cradled the phone to her ear. 

“What a greeting,” he laughed. “How was the first day back? You put Livan through his paces?”

“First day was exhausting.” A yawn interrupted into the rest of her answer, punctuating her point better than any description of all the sprints she'd run. 

Mike hummed and Ginny could almost feel his warm hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles into the aching muscles. Of course, Mike was back in San Diego and she was lying in the master suite of his Peoria house. She hadn’t thought about how strange it would be that the first time she slept in this bed, it would be by herself, or how lonely it would feel. Last night, she’d tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally drifting off. 

Apparently, she’d gotten a little too used to falling asleep sharing a bed. 

Not that Ginny had any intention of telling Mike any of that. Much as she missed him and was rethinking her insistence that he stay at home, he deserved a February and March not spent hauling himself around Arizona on a crowded bus. Especially now that he wasn't contractually obligated to. 

He’d been so excited at the prospect of spending the entire off-season lounging around with Ginny. There was no reason he had to suddenly change his plans just because she couldn’t lie around all the time. It wasn't really an activity that required company.

Mike deserved to relax. Maybe practice his golf swing so Ginny wouldn’t kick his ass six ways to Sunday the next time they hit the driving range, but that could be relaxing in its own way. 

“Should I let you go?” he asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Instantly, Ginny replied, “No, keep talking to me.”

“Aw, babe, you missed my voice that much?”

“Ugh, I changed my mind!” she laughed, pulling an extra pillow to her chest to cuddle. It didn’t quite smell like Mike, but it was his laundry detergent and better than nothing. His rumbling chuckle coming down the line helped, too. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like he was there.

“Tell me about the prospects,” he said after a beat of comfortable silence. “Anyone looking promising?”

Happily enough, Ginny gave him a rundown of the new faces at camp, and they fell into an easy back and forth. Gradually, though, the back and forth skewed pretty heavily to the forth as Ginny’s eyelids grew heavy and her breathing deepened. 

The last thing she remembered before finally drifting off was Mike’s soft voice saying, “Night, Gin. I miss you.”

She thought she responded with a “Miss you, too,” but it was entirely possible she’d fallen asleep already.  

 

* * *

 

Mike lasted a week. 

Nearly every time they talked—which was often more than once a day—he asked if she was sure she didn’t want him to come out for a visit. Every time, she assured him he should stay put.

Of course she wanted him to visit, but Ginny didn’t want him to feel _obligated_  to visit even more. 

She probably should have figured out he wasn’t asking for her, though. 

About halfway through one of the full team workouts, there was a commotion over by one of the dugouts. Ginny tried to ignore it, sure she was this close to nailing her splitter. Livan wouldn’t sink back into his crouch, though, too busy staring off across the field. 

"Unless there’s a naked woman handing out free food over there, I’m gonna need your attention, _papi_ ,” she called.

Livan smirked. “Nah, I think it’s something more up your alley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but still turned to look. 

Oh, God damn it. He was right. 

Standing in a tight knot of his former teammates, and looking far too pleased with himself, was Mike Lawson. 

Ginny didn’t think she imagined the way he lit up when their eyes met, even all the way across the field. 

Her current catcher chuckled knowingly, slung an arm around her shoulders, and began steering them both toward her former catcher and current boyfriend. 

“Lawson,” he greeted as he pushed his way through the circle of milling ballplayers, drawing Ginny with him, “they let you out of the retirement home?”

“Livan, always a pleasure,” Mike replied, grinning. There wasn’t even an undertone of sarcasm, a true rarity. “You taking care of Baker here?”

“Ah, you and I both know that I’m not the one who takes care of Baker.”

Ginny sharply elbowed him in the side. In spite of the quiet “Oof!” he gave, his arm remained planted around her shoulders. 

“Hey, old man. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Ah, well, I figured I should check in on the house. Make sure you haven’t burned it to the ground.”

“Not yet,” she replied, an edge of annoyance working its way into her tone. “Should’ve let me know you’d be in town. I could’ve cleaned up from all the parties I’ve thrown.”

“Has Baker been throwing ragers?” she heard one of the new prospects murmur, which was when she decided it was time to call it quits. 

Thankfully, the Padres staff had the same idea, calling an end to practice and sending their horde of sweaty ballplayers off to the showers. 

Before Ginny could follow, though, Mike caught her arm, tugging her gently around to face him again. Instead of the kiss she could tell he wanted to give her, he settled for rubbing the jutting bone of her wrist. In spite of her irritation, the mere brush of his fingertips on her skin was all it took to light her up. She fought back the reaction; they were in public, and much as Livan liked to drop hints and needle for information, no one knew that she and Mike were anything more than former teammates. So, she looked up at him, mouth carefully flat and gaze guarded.

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling brightly. 

“Hi.”

“You, uh—” he broke off, his brow furrowing in worry. “You don’t seem that excited to see me.”

Ginny sighed and gave him a wan smile. “Of course I am. I’m just surprised. I really didn’t expect to see you, Mike.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, gently untangling her wrist from his grasp. “I’ve gotta shower, but I’ll see you at the house?”

“Yeah,” he echoed. “At the house.”

   

* * *

 

When she walked in the door, Ginny’d never been more grateful that Blip had elected to rent his own place this year. Though she’d been pretty lonely the past week, it meant her reunion with Mike wouldn’t be dampened by the need to stay quiet or the awkwardness of kicking Blip out for the duration. 

That appreciation was closely followed by her nose's and stomach’s gratitude to Mike’s cooking skills. 

Clearly, he’d already started making dinner. Because he knew her too well. 

Ginny made a beeline for the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to admire the sight of Mike standing at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, a towel tossed casually over his shoulder, as he tended to a sizzling pan of something that smelled delicious. 

But why should she admire from afar when he was _right there_? Without skipping a beat, Ginny sidled up to her multi-talented boyfriend, ready to bask in his mere proximity.

“Smells good,” she observed, leaning into his side. 

He hummed his agreement but didn’t wrap his arm around her the way he did when he cooked back in San Diego. Ginny chanced a glance up at his face, which was trained steadily on the food he was preparing. 

“Hey,” she said, turning towards him. “Don’t you want your hello kiss?”

Still, he didn’t look at her, though she could see the furrows in his brow as he thought it over. Like it was an answer that actually required any thinking over.

Unsure of what, exactly, was going through his brain, Ginny rolled her eyes, clapped her hands to either side of his neck, and pulled him down to her level. 

In spite of the strange angle, the first brush of his lips against hers sent all of the tension spiraling out of her body. Ginny hummed in happiness and pressed even closer to him, soaking up the warmth and strength he had in ready supply. Finally, Mike seemed to catch on, fumbling to turn off the burner and turning to face her. His arms wrapped around her waist, and anything like space that may have existed between them disappeared. His lips moved insistently against hers, and Ginny responded in kind, eager for a taste of him. 

It’d only been a week, but, God, had she missed this. 

Her fingers carded into his hair, grown a little shaggy over the course of the off-season. Ginny loved it, though. It gave her something to hold onto when— 

Well. 

Reluctantly, and only when her lungs absolutely demanded it, Ginny pulled a hair’s breadth away from him.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. 

Ginny’s eyes flew open, and she startled back. “What?”

Mike pulled away, his arms unlocking from around her to start tending to dinner again. He looked a little sheepish when he admitted, “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

He shrugged. “You weren’t that excited to see me, and you said I should’ve given you a head’s up. Which I should’ve. And—”

“I was surprised! Anyway, it wasn’t like I could greet you the way I wanted with an audience.”

“True,” he allowed, though the way he scrunched his nose meant he didn’t quite agree. 

Ginny knew he wasn’t as sold on keeping their relationship under wraps as she was, but she stood firm. Mike deserved more than six months of getting to be a normal person. The minute they went public, all of his peace and quiet was going to be blown to smithereens, and there'd be no escaping it. Because Ginny had no intention of letting him go. 

“I really was surprised,” she murmured, leaning her chin on his shoulder. “I thought you were having a nice time back at home.”

“I was bored out of my mind back home.”

“What?” she asked for the second time of the evening.

Mike sighed and turned off the burner again. Apparently, this conversation required all of his attention. 

“I didn’t have anything to do, Gin. I was just lying around the house, doing nothing but miss you.”

“I thought you wanted to lie around and do nothing!” Ginny protested.

“Well, yeah. When it was you and me doing it together. Do you know how big and empty that house feels with just me rattling around in it?”

“Mike,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around him again. His banded around her immediately, strong and comforting. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why do you think I kept asking if you wanted me to come out for a visit?”

Helplessly, Ginny started to laugh. She buried her face in his neck, but couldn’t quiet the giggles that erupted from her. 

“All right,” he grouched, pulling away. “You don’t have to laugh at me.”

“No, I—” More giggles spilled from her lips. If Mike looked less amused and more hurt, it probably would have been easier to stop. Eventually, Ginny got a handle on herself and sucked in a deep breath. “The only reason I kept saying no was because I thought you wanted to stay at home.”

“You mean a little honesty and we wouldn’t have been so miserable this past week?”

“Speak for yourself, old man. I’ve been living it up without you.”

Mike’s growl was Ginny’s only warning before he descended on her, fingers seeking out all her most ticklish places and mercilessly attacking her until she was shrieking with laughter. 

“I give! I give!” she gasped, trying to fend Mike off from where he’d backed her up against the counter. With a slight grunt of effort, he lifted her to sit on it and wedged himself between her spread knees. As usual, he fit perfectly. “You’re right. We should’ve been honest with each other to begin with.”

“In that case,” he murmured, looming deliciously over her, “any other truths you’d like to share?”

Ginny hummed in thought before letting a dangerous smirk unfurl on her lips. “As good as dinner smells, I can think of some things I’d much rather do with you that don’t involve eating.”

“No eating?” he teased.

“Well, maybe a little,” she allowed, laughing.

Which was, apparently, the exact kind of honesty Mike was looking for. Because he swept her up and carried her out of the kitchen. 

Ginny was finally going to share Mike’s bed with him. And, if honesty was the name of the game, she hoped she’d get to keep sharing it with him for a long time to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea that, in spite of how much they both like/love each other, Mike and Ginny are kind of ineffectual at the talking over feelings thing. Also any and all insecurity about their relationship which they can rush to reassure each other over is gr9. 
> 
> (And is any fic complete without a joke about oral? Answer: No.)


	34. lose inhibitions/give exhibitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JustSimplyMe: Ginny getting roofied at a club and Protective!Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: discussion (but no use!) of date rape drugs, Protective!Mike, Human Disaster Mike Lawson

Something strange is going on. 

Mike’s not sure if it’s been like this all night or if it only started recently. He should’ve been watching more closely, should’ve known the minute that something shifted. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent most of the evening within arm’s reach, he still should’ve _known_. 

What should be a laid back night out with the team has got a knot of worry eating away at his gut. Because something is... _not right_. But he can’t put a finger on what.

Okay, he can. It’s Ginny. 

(When isn’t it Ginny?) 

He just hasn’t figured out _why_ she’s acting so unusually and it’s starting to drive him crazy.

She’s not sloppy. In fact, Mike doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ginny even get drunk on team outings. Tipsy, yes, but rarely drunk. She tends to keep such exacting control over herself. 

So, while she’s drunk more than she usually does, it's not anything to raise eyebrows. Well, anyone else’s eyebrows. But there’s definitely something different about her tonight. 

She’s... looser. Freer. 

She’s all over him. 

For her at least. It’s not like when groupies sidle up to him at the bar, flirting and asking for a selfie, tossing their hair and pressing their breasts into his arm or back. That’s not Ginny’s style and if she’d been doing it, Mike definitely would have caught on faster. 

The problem is, none of what Ginny’s doing is _that_  different from how they usually are with each other. 

She’s just been touching him slightly more than usual: letting her hand linger on the waistband of his jeans as she slides by him at the bar, leaning her head against his shoulder as she laughs at their teammates for a breath longer than usual, twining her fingers through his beneath the table. 

And the staring. It feels like Ginny’s attention hasn’t wavered from him all night. 

Which is probably a good thing because if Ginny’d touched anyone else half as much as she’d been touching Mike, there would’ve been problems. 

(Problems that Mike would’ve dealt with by ordering a double bourbon and sulking, but still problems.)

What should be a celebration, even a slightly bittersweet one, has been overshadowed by Mike overthinking what the hell is going on in Ginny’s head. There’s part of him that hopes her sudden need to be as close as possible is tied to the press release his agent put out this morning: Mike Lawson’s hanging up his mask at the end of the season. 

Even if it’s not true, he wants answers. And unfortunately, there’s really only one place for him to turn.

“Anyone know how much she’s had to drink?”

There are shrugs and rolled eyes all around. Nanny Lawson at it again. 

“You weren’t counting?” Dusty jokes, turning back to the table. 

Mike won’t dignify that with a response. Because they’ll definitely make fun of him if he does. 

It’s not until Salvi says, “Didn’t someone buy her a drink, though? When Mike dropped the guard dog routine for a minute to take a leak?” that Mike really starts to worry. 

(Worries so much, in fact, that he misses the consensus that, yes, it had happened, but, no, Ginny hadn’t accepted. He also misses the shared looks of amused disbelief as he heads off to find the pitcher, expression stormy.)

What had he missed? Some creep hitting on her and Ginny just needed a little physical reassurance to get over it? Unlikely. It was far more believable that she’d put anyone trying to pressure her in their place without any kind of assistance. And Mike’s sure that he would’ve heard if she’d started a brawl. 

Mike’s still puzzling it out, turning it over in his head. She really hasn’t been drinking enough to explain the odd behavior. More than usual, but Ginny’s pretty good at holding her liquor. Unless—

Christ. What if someone spiked her drink? 

It makes sense: her slight spaciness and the way she’d had to lean on him to stay standing the last time they’d visited the bar. 

She’d never gone to college, probably never learned how to watch her drink. It probably never even occurred to her to worry about it. 

Mike sees red at the mere thought, wants to haul the bartender over the scarred oak bar and demand who ordered that drink for her, but he manages to take a breath. Maybe it’s not even true. And anyway, it doesn’t help anyone, but especially Ginny, if he loses his cool right now. Before he gets her out of here. 

The fact that once she’s safe, he can come back and tear the place apart with his bare hands goes unsaid. 

Feeling marginally better, he seeks out Ginny almost unconsciously. Thankfully, she’s exactly where he left her: leaning up against Blip and Sonny, pouting slightly. 

She catches him looking and lights up.

“Mike!” she cheers, tipping against Sonny, who pushes her gingerly back to Blip. The outfielder rolls his eyes, but takes Ginny’s weight easily enough, not that she notices. She waves him over and Mike goes. Not just because she’s potentially been drugged, but because he’s incapable of not bending to her every whim. 

Once he’s close enough, Ginny shakes off Blip’s support and twirls into Mike’s arms. He catches her readily, frowning at how much she has to lean on him to stay upright. 

“You finally gonna dance with me, old man?”

She’s pouting, which is the only reason he spins her around, only stopping when she stumbles and has to grab his shoulders to remain on her feet. He sends Blip a concerned look and gets a frown in response. 

Loudly, not just for Ginny’s sake, he announces, “I think it’s about time we get this show on the road.” 

His assessment receives mixed reviews from both his teammates and their various hangers on. Whatever. The guys can handle not shutting down the bar for once in their lives. 

The loudest dissension, though, comes from Ginny herself. 

“You’re gonna leave, _now?”_ she demands, incredulous. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders like she’s preparing herself to physically bar him from going.

The rest of the team leaves them to it, either to go home themselves or avoid another episode of the Ginny and Mike Show. 

Not that either of its leading characters really notice. 

“We gotta get you home, Gin,” he murmurs, gentler than he would be otherwise. Ordinarily, he’d tease her into agreeing with him, but it seems unlikely that she’s going to remember this in the morning. He tucks a stray curl behind her ear and does his best not to let himself linger. 

(Not that his best is all that good. Not when it comes to this.)

She grins, soft and bright. Her head tilts and god damn it, she looks fucking adorable, but she’s high out of her mind. “Oh, really?” she asks, practically a purr. 

Mike swallows and ignores the way she’s looking at him, hates that it’s just the product of some drug she didn’t want or take for herself. “Yeah. Night’s over.”

Something like confusion passes over her face and she burrows closer to his side. When he tucks his arm around her shoulder, more protective than because he likes the way it feels (and God does he like the way it feels), and starts steering her to the door, though, it passes and she sighs happily. 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” she murmurs, her arm curling around his back and fingers inching under his shirt to hook into a belt loop.

Somehow, Mike manages to pour/lift Ginny into the passenger’s seat of his truck—suddenly the woman is part octopus, all clinging limbs—and drives her back to the condo she calls home. Though the thought of directing his car back to his house crosses his mind, Mike blots it out quickly. The idea of Ginny in his house is one he doesn’t want compromised by the fact she’s only there because some asshole was trying to take advantage of her. 

Just thinking about it makes his hands curl around the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strength of his grip. Ginny doesn’t seem to notice, fiddling with the radio and humming along once she finds a song she likes. He’s a little surprised that she hasn’t passed out, but there’s always a chance that whatever got slipped into her drink wasn’t the average roofie. His mind tries to cycle through other possibilities, though it’s not as if he’s at all familiar with that kind of drug. 

He pushes the whirring thoughts from his head in favor of getting Ginny safely home. It’s not such a hard task when Mike concentrates on the tuneless, if contented, humming coming from the passenger seat. He lets her lull him into the easy rhythm of muscle memory (easier with the reminder that she’s fine and nothing happened), navigating San Diego’s late night traffic on auto pilot. 

It’s only the catch of her door releasing and the flare of the overhead light that knocks him out of his stupor. In a flash, he’s out of the car and jogging around the front to give Ginny a hand. For her part, she’s remarkably steady on her feet, but still takes the offered support. 

He leads her up to her door, watching as she fumbles her keys. Ginny giggles a little, leaning on him as her usually able and agile fingers fail to get the right key, once she finds it, into the lock. 

Mike doesn’t tease the way he usually would, too worried about whatever is working its way through his system to come up with a good joke, but he does gently extricate her keyring from her grasp to open the door himself. 

Ginny turns up to him, grinning. “Taking charge, captain? I think I like that.”

Mike rolls his eyes to keep himself from taking her words seriously. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he says instead, already taking a step back.

“Aren’t you coming in?” she pouts, stopping him in his tracks.

Mike’s conflicted. On the one hand, he needs to be far far away if Ginny’s going to keep looking up at him through her eyelashes and biting her lip. On the other, he’s going to feel awful just leaving her here to wake up confused and potentially scared in the morning. And right now, making sure that Ginny’s okay absolutely trumps driving back to the bar and tracking down the piece of shit that did this to her. 

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that nothing happened and Ginny is safely back at home, before nodding. 

“Give me the tour, rook.”

This isn’t the first time he’s been to her condo. Though, the extravagant housewarming that Evelyn and Amelia had orchestrated hadn’t given him much opportunity to explore beyond the state-of-the-art kitchen, well decorated living room, and back deck. Mike had ducked into the powder room to splash water on his face when the sight of Ginny leaning on the kitchen island, head tipped back in laughter, had devolved into a long, inappropriate train of thought all about other scenarios that involved Ginny bent over that counter. 

Mike’s got a feeling that powder room won’t be making the tour tonight.

Not with the way she’s grinning at him, hardly even bothering to turn on the lights as she leads him up the stairs to her lofted bedroom. 

With every step he climbs, Mike tries to tell himself that he’s just going to make sure she gets into bed, has a trashcan and a supply of aspirin handy for when she wakes up. Every time he manages to get himself halfway convinced, though, Ginny turns back and smiles at him. And when her grin makes his heart beat faster, he forcibly reminds himself of what an awful fucking excuse for a man he’d be if he does anything to act on the way he feels. 

Eventually, though, they make it to the top of the stairs. 

Mike’s somewhat relieved to find a little sitting area, a neglected desk in the corner, that forms something of a pause between the landing and her bedroom. If he’d stepped right into the intimacy of Ginny Baker’s bedroom, it would have been so much harder to stand firm. Sure, he can still see her messily made bed from here, but he can probably convince himself that this space still qualifies as a public area. It’s just an extra place to hang out with friends. It’s not weird that he’s here. Not at all. Just as long as he doesn't go any further, everything will be fine.

Ginny, however, is less content with him staying put. 

She grabs his wrist and tugs, pouting a little when he digs in his heels. Strong as she is, she’s still drunk and high off of God knows what. There’s no way she’ll get him to take one more step. 

“Nice place,” he observes, trying to keep his tone neutral as he pretends there isn't a pouting pitcher latched onto his arm, doing her damnedest to get him into her bedroom. 

Why couldn’t she have just passed out? Sure, it would’ve been a pain to haul her up here, but it would’ve been worth it for how easily he could’ve gotten her tucked into bed. He’d get her settled and then be out the door (or more likely, camped out on her sofa downstairs so he could check and make sure she hadn’t choked on her own vomit in the middle of the night) without any fuss. 

But he’s pretty sure a fuss is what he’s going to get. 

Ginny finally stops pulling at him, having finally realized that he’s staying put. Instead, she peers up at him through her eyelashes, head cocked to the side. “It is,” she agrees, leaning into him as she’s been all night. Her hands fall away from his wrist, but before Mike can feel relieved, they settle on his hips, fingers weaving into the belt loops there. “But it’s hard to appreciate from so far away.”

Mike, God help him, stares intently down at the bold seductress that’s taken over Ginny. His jaw works side to side, but he can’t come up with a good response. There’s no way he’ll regret not giving in, not when the alternative is fundamentally betraying the trust he and Ginny have built, but he’s also sure the way she licks her lips and her gaze falls to his is going to haunt him for the rest of his natural life.

Before she can lean in even more, Mike finally finds his voice.

“Ginny, we can’t.”

She frowns, pulling away slightly. The little pucker in her brow would be adorable if it weren’t for the flash of hurt in her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because we’re still teammates,” he reminds her, gentle. No need to freak her out and tell her that someone spiked her drink. 

“But you’re retiring.”

“Yeah. At the end of the season.”

Ginny smiles at that, sidling back into him. Her fingers tangle in his belt loops again, anchoring their hips together. She takes a few step backwards, and Mike mindlessly follows before realizing how much closer her bed suddenly is. 

“Maybe I don’t want to wait for the end of the season.” 

Her face tilts up to him and it’s all Mike can do not to lean down and finally find out what she tastes like. He groans, disengaging her fingers from his jeans, and pulls away. 

“We can’t do this.”

Ginny doesn’t follow him, but her arms come up to wrap around herself. “You already said that,” she says hollowly.

A hand scrubs over his face and Mike sighs, “I know,” slumping as he realizes how hurt she is. 

“Why did you follow me up here, then?” she demands, a lick of anger overriding her lost confusion.

“Because you asked me to.”

It’s obviously more complex than that, but it all boils down to the same fact: Mike would do just about anything for Ginny. To protect her, keep her safe, make her happy. 

“Well, now I’m asking you to kiss me.”

Mike swallows, but still has to answer, “I can’t,” around the lump in his throat.

Ginny’s face falls. If she’d been sober, Mike’s sure that she would’ve done a better job of hiding the dismay. Then again, if she’d been sober, he wouldn’t have to keep her at arm’s length right now. They’d both probably be making themselves very at home in that bed of hers. 

But she’s not, so she also doesn’t manage to hold her tongue.

“Don’t you want me? Did you change your mind?”

Her chin wobbles, but there’s no sign of tears. Not that that makes Mike feel any less wretched. 

In a heartbeat, he’s back in her orbit, gathering a slightly resistant Ginny into his arms. She only relaxes when he admits, “Of course I want you.” It comes out huskier, more raw, than he intended. But this is the first time he’s told Ginny about his feelings for her in so many words. 

In any words, even. 

“Then why keep saying we can’t?” She sniffles a little into his shirt.

“Because I need to know it’s you who wants this and not whatever you’ve had tonight.”

Immediately, a switch flips and the tears disappear. Indignantly, Ginny rears back, jabbing him in the chest with a long finger. 

“I’m not drunk!”

“Gin—”

“Fine. _Maybe_  I’m a little tipsy, but—”

“It’s not just that.”

She frowns, her lower lip jutting adorably towards him, though she’s clearly still annoyed. “Then what?”

“I think someone slipped something in your drink.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He wants to kick himself. Ginny’s already emotional, he doesn’t need to layer panic and anxiety on top of whatever she’s feeling. 

Rather than panic, though, her frown deepens as she processes the information. “You think someone spiked my drink at the bar?” she checks.

Mike just nods, unsure of whether or not he needs to brace himself. 

He does. Just not in the way that he’d thought.

Because rather than freaking out or yelling or withdrawing completely, Ginny laughs. 

Full on, gut busting, full-throated gales of laughter.

“Ginny, stop laughing,” he practically begs, at a complete loss. “It’s not funny.”

She complies, though a few giggles manage to burst through the calm she tries to affect. Finally, though, she manages to look up at him with a mostly straight face.

“It is, though,” she replies, smiling in the face of his confused frown. The way her hands lay flat against his chest helps soothe the sting of her abject amusement, at least. “Mike, you watch my drinks better than I do. When would someone have had a chance to spike one?”

“What about the guy who bought you a drink while I was in the bathroom?” he counters a little too triumphantly.

Her brow furrows again. “The drink I didn’t take? I’m pretty sure even the strongest roofie can’t affect someone who doesn’t drink it.”

“You didn’t drink it?”

“Nope,” she responds, the word popping off her lips. Her hands slide over his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers gently carding through the hair there. “Only one guy bought me drinks tonight, and would you look at that? I went home with him.”

There’s not much Mike can do in the face of Ginny’s goofy grin other than grin back. Gingerly, as if he’s waiting for her to come to her senses, his own arms wrap more firmly around her. Ginny doesn’t protest, just slides even closer with a happy little hum. 

Mike’s lost track of the number of times that Ginny’s tilted her face up to him and rocked forward tonight, but she does it again. Not that her lips find their intended target. He turns his face at the last moment and her mouth connects with his bearded cheek. 

She pulls away with an exasperated huff. 

Sheepishly, he explains, “You’re still drunk.”

Ginny doesn't even bother to argue, which he appreciates. “Would you feel better if we slept on it?” she asks, her grin and the tilt of her head giving away just how indulgent she’s feeling. 

Mike rolls his eyes. It would, though.

That’s apparently more than enough answer for Ginny, who unwinds her arms from around his neck and takes a step back. Mike takes a deep breath and takes a backwards step of his own, heading for the stairs. Before he can take another, though, her incredulous voice stops him. 

“Where are you going?”

“Home. So we can sleep on this.”

“Stay.”

“Gin—”

“Listen,” she interrupts, sounding entirely sure of herself. “You’re already making me wait longer than I want, even if I understand why. But don’t think that I’m also going to wait for you to drive your ass over here after I wake up tomorrow morning and repeat this conversation back to you. Okay?”

Mouth twitching in the face of her annoyance, he nods.

But Ginny apparently isn’t done.

“And I know this won’t change your mind and you’ll probably ask if I meant this at least four times tomorrow morning, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

She swallows, a look of determination that Mike is all too familiar with crossing her features.

“I don’t want to wait for the season to end to be with you. We have been waiting so long already. I know a few months aren’t going to change the way I feel about you, but I’m ready to be happy now. And I am so, so sure that you’re going to make me happy.”

She pauses for a long moment to stare him down, to make sure that he’s paying attention. Mike is sure, no matter what comes next, he’ll never forget a single moment of Ginny telling him that he’ll make her happy. What could top that? 

Of course, he thought too soon because Ginny wasn’t done bowling him over.

“Because I love you, old man. Even when you’re crabby and make me give up the window seat on the plane. Even when you won’t shut up about your glory days. Even when you’re so protective you make up a drug scare just so you have a reason to take care of me. I love you.”

Speechless for once in his life, all Mike can do is cross the space between them, take Ginny’s hand, and press a tender kiss to her palm. He looks into her eyes as he does, trying to convey just how much he is with her. How much he loves her, too.

Much as he wants to kiss her, wants to sweep her into his arms and show her how deep his love for her goes, he knows he needs to wait. Just one night, to make sure that this isn’t some drug-fueled confession that she’ll walk back tomorrow. He doesn’t think it is, doesn’t think that any drug could mimic the vulnerability and honesty shining out of Ginny’s perfect face, but he needs to _know._  

And Ginny, thankfully, understands.

She smiles, tangling her fingers with his as she pulls him towards her bed.

Once they’re both settled in, the lights out and curled intimately around one another, Mike lets himself think about how much he hopes she’s right. About being happy now rather than waiting. About being the one who can make that true for her. 

He wants that future so badly he can taste it. 

The last coherent thought he has before drifting off is that there are worse things in life than being in love with someone who’s right about everything. 

(Maybe not everything. In the morning, he only asks if she’d been serious three times before finally giving in and kissing her, slipping an “I love you,” into every breath and pause.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Michael. Some day you'll learn. 
> 
> To be clear, I don't think Mike—no matter how hard Ginny was flirting—would sleep with her when he believed her to be under the influence of something like a roofie. I do think it's entirely possible that he could end up kissing her and feeling guilty as hell about it, though.
> 
> Thoughts?


	35. she's overboard, self assured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alwayskels: Can we get Ginny acting out in the space between her dad dying and reporting to the minors. Ginny’s first time with a college guy who’s back home in Tarboro for the summer and introduces her to all sorts of fun and risky things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: flashbacks ahoy, underage drinking, arguably too long
> 
> chapter title: "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana
> 
> but: consider listening to ["Dancing in the Moonlight"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSHygiOnwTA) for a sense of the vibe I was going for in the flashbacks?

Ginny sighs, barely restraining the urge to thump the back of her head against what is supposed to be a soothing and inoffensive wallpaper. It's not she has anything against the pattern, just the fact that it covers the walls of her doctor’s waiting room.

There’s just something about waiting rooms. They kick the background stress that she’s mostly learned to ignore right to the forefront of her brain, worse even than game day nerves.

Even though this clinic is supposed to have a highly selective clientele, and therefore highly discreet practices, she’s still been waiting for fifteen minutes. Her knee jiggles up and down and she doesn’t bother stilling it, too wrapped up in quieting the anxiety that had been building since she walked in the door.

 _What is with the wait? What kind of awful news are they trying to figure out how to tell me?_ she wonders, chewing on her lip and really wanting to get up and pace and knowing she can’t. Because what she really wants is to get out of this situation without attracting any more attention than what’s already on her. Ginny’d managed to avoid making small talk with the two other people in the waiting room so far, but one of the guys keeps darting what he thinks are subtle glances in her direction, his phone held at an angle that is only natural when taking a picture. The last thing she needs is him tweeting her oncoming meltdown along with whatever furtive photos he’s already managed to take.

She can practically see the ESPN coverage now: _Has Ginny Baker lost it? After the pitcher’s still undisclosed injury, she’s exhibited some worrying behavior. Read more for an in depth look!_

Before Ginny can spiral any further, imagining what they’d say about her on Good Morning America or The View, a nurse steps into the waiting room and calls her name. 

As it turns out, Ginny’s anxiety is mostly unwarranted. Her doctor had just been stuck in traffic and doesn’t have any terrible news to deliver. So after confirming that her elbow does, in fact, feel better and hasn’t suffered any unexpected setbacks in her PT sessions, her doctor signs off on her trainer’s proposal without much fuss. 

The proposal that would let Ginny start throwing again. 

After weeks of physical therapy and the monotony of working on her dry mechanics, they’re finally going to let her pick up a ball again.

 _It’s a good thing_ , she tries to convince herself.

Unsure of how relieved she’s supposed to feel, but definitely grateful to get out of the doctor’s office, Ginny doesn’t think twice before she’s back out in the fall afternoon. 

From behind her mirrored sunglasses, Ginny takes a surreptitious look around and breathes a sigh of relief when it’s clear the band of paparazzi she’s been trailing the past month aren’t anywhere to be seen. 

A little flutter of excitement lights up her stomach. 

The sudden lack of surveillance has Ginny smiling as she climbs into her car. She knows that she should’ve called the car service, with its intimidatingly big SUVs, instead of taking the shitty little Solara she found on Craigslist, but she’s been driving herself everywhere she can lately. 

It’s time that she can be alone by choice. 

Strangely, it’s better than the nearly suffocating loneliness she’s felt ever since September. Ever since her injury, it hasn’t mattered how many people she’s with, Ginny has felt disorientingly isolated. Alone in a crowd,  

It’s not something she’d ever thought she was going to feel again.

Shaking her head, she pulls out of the parking space and onto the road. There isn’t anywhere she needs to be until brunch with Blip, Evelyn, and the boys. 

There are probably healthier ways to cope than trying to outrun her anxiety, but Ginny figures her car goes even faster. She can leave logical thinking in the dust, too. 

At least as long as the I-5 is calling her name.

 

* * *

**_Tarboro, North Carolina  
2010_ **

If the battery of therapists and counselors Ginny’s been roped into seeing are to be trusted, there are five stages of grief. 

Respectfully, that is pure, unadulterated bullshit. 

Ever since her pop died, Ginny’s been uncomfortably numb. She knows she should be feeling other things, that the shock should’ve worn off by now. Sometimes, she even thinks she does. The dull buzz that makes her head pound: that’s rage. Confusion is the tangle of thoughts that clog up her brain and make it impossible to think. And heartbreak, interestingly, isn’t to be found anywhere in her chest. It’s the hollow swoop of her gut every time she forgets, for just a moment, and then has to come back to reality. 

Has to remember that her father is dead in the ground. 

They’re, objectively, awful things to experience, but they provide something of a break from the sense that she’s been swaddled too tightly in bubble wrap, so Ginny starts to look forward to feeling them. 

They’re a nice way to break up the monotony. Of both her emotional numbness and the complete lack of anything going on in her life. 

It had been decided that given her good academic standing and the trauma she’d just endured, Ginny could complete her senior year remotely. As long as she finishes her assignments and passes her finals, she’ll still graduate in two months with the rest of her class. 

What this means, though, is that Ginny spends long hours alone in the house or biking around the neighborhood, trying to figure out what she’s supposed to be doing. 

In the present general sense or with her future specifically.

Not that she’s the only one anxious about this. Ginny can’t count the number of times in the past two weeks, ever since Will went back to take his finals and get ready for summer session, that her mom has tried to start a conversation about the future. Which isn’t comfortable for anyone involved.

It’s not like Ginny knows what she wants to do. Between NC State and the Padres scout’s card has been burning a hole in her pocket ever since—

Ginny sighs and pushes herself up from bed, unwilling to go through the memories again. The latest shrink says that avoidance won’t work forever, but it’s working pretty well at the moment. 

She paces her room, carefully not looking at the poster over her bed. 

Things had been so simple. When the words “San Diego Padres” came out of the scout’s mouth, Ginny hadn’t been able to stop the impulsive thrill that ran down her arms. To play for his team—well, his farm team, at least. It was practically a dream come true. 

Which, of course, quickly turned into the worst kind of nightmare. 

She hasn’t been able to look at the poster. 

(Has checked several urges to rip the damn thing off her wall along with every other bit of baseball memorabilia in sight. Just go on a rampage and destroy every last thing that reminds her of— Well. She doesn’t. It would only leave her room sadder and emptier than even she feels.)

Hasn’t been able to put on her glove, either. 

Her bag is still sitting in the corner of her room where her mom had left it a week ago, beginning to gather dust for the first time in its existence. Ginny can’t remember a time since she sprained her wrist in sixth grade that she’s gone so long without picking up a baseball or swinging a bat or even watching a game. 

There’s part of her that itches to get back out there. Even if it’s just tossing the ball around in the backyard. 

Kind of hard to toss the ball without anyone to catch it, though.

Ginny sighs and slumps at her desk. The unsent email she’s been trying to write for days glares back from the screen. Truthfully, she doesn’t even know what she wants to say to Jordan. It’s mostly a lot of questions. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he tell her? Did he think it was his fault? Was he still her friend? 

When the questions begins piling up in her brain, an unending litany that feels like it'll burst out of her ears, splash down to the carpet, and rise and rise until she’s drowning, she opens a new tab. The blank web page doesn’t silence the crush of her thoughts, though. If anything, it just amplifies it, all that blank space to fill. 

Before she knows it, her fingers fly over the keyboard. 

The familiar layout of Facebook isn’t surprising, but Ginny frowns at it anyway. 

Quickly, she dismisses all of her notifications, sure that they’re either invitations to play Farmville—pass—or more falsely sympathetic comments on her wall—hard pass.

Instead she scrolls down her feed, not looking for anything in particular, just something to keep her distracted. It’s not that hard. It’s actually pretty easy to get pulled into whatever petty bullshit the rest of her classmates are dealing with. And it’s not like finding out about it all on Facebook is all that different from how Ginny usually gets her gossip: third-hand and overheard in the dugout or on the bus to and from away games. 

Almost without her permission, she stops scrolling at a comment posted to Will’s wall a few days ago. 

> _**Pete Garrity:**  
>  hey man, idk if ur in town but jesse’s mom’s out of town and he’s throwing a party this weekend. lmk if u or ur sis wanna come_

There are a few comments and likes, mostly agreements and a few late condolences, but nothing from her brother. Ginny idly hopes it means he’s been too busy studying to check Facebook recently.

More importantly, though, something perks up inside her. It’s strange enough that Ginny has to take a moment to process it. She reads over the post again and that odd little stirring doesn’t go away. 

Not once in her high school career has Ginny gone to an unchaperoned party. She doubts they’re anything like Mean Girls or Sixteen Candles try to make them seem, but maybe it would be nice to find out for herself.

Still, she shakes it off. What’s the point of going to a party where people are just going to stare at her and whisper behind her back, make her feel even more singled out than she does already? Besides, now really isn’t the time to be going out and having fun, even if Ginny kind of doubts she’s even capable of having fun any more.

No. She has better things to do with her time. 

She tells herself that even as she closes the browser and pushes away from her desk. She tells herself that as she crosses the few feet to her bed and flops back onto the unmade sheets. 

Staring up at the ceiling, knowing she won’t do anything else all day, she gives up on believing it.

 

* * *

Much as she might want to, Ginny can’t just take off up the Pacific Coast Highway. For one, she doesn’t have her phone charger with her, and if she disappears for the second time in four months without a working cell phone, there’s a good chance Amelia would murder her.

Of course, she’d have to get in line behind Evelyn. 

Which is the second thing. She’s supposed to be having brunch with the Sanders clan this afternoon, and if she doesn’t show up, Ginny’s sure she’ll be guilted into several evenings of babysitting as payback.

And much as she loves the boys, she’s not sure how good she is at being Fun Aunt Ginny lately. 

Even with good news from the doctor, she feels restless and unrooted. Like she might blow away with the slightest gust of wind. 

She can’t decide if that means she should keep her windows rolled down.

Not that her friends (or anyone, really) need to know that. 

Which is why she stops by Evelyn’s favorite bakery for cupcakes before swinging over to the Sanders home. Sugar highs are pretty good distractions for two seven-and-a-half-year-olds and remembering a hostess gifts makes it seem like she’s not clinging to the facade of normalcy by the skin of her teeth.

Just as she’d planned, she’s greeted enthusiastically at the door by Gabe and Marcus, followed shortly by their mother. 

“C’mon in, Ginny,” Evelyn smiles, giving her a quick squeeze. She lights up at the distinctive yellow box in Ginny’s arms, whisking the desserts off to the kitchen. Probably to arrange them artfully on a plate because Evelyn Sanders is all about presentation.

For their part, the twins drag her past the kitchen island and into the living room, eagerly jabbering about the new video game they have and how their dad hasn’t let them have a turn yet. 

Sure enough, Blip leans intently forward on the couch, eyes tracing the scantily clad archaeologist on the screen.

“You nerd,” Ginny teases. “You _would_  go for Lara Croft.”

His grin is bright enough to earn an automatic smile in response. For once, the stretch of her mouth doesn’t feel forced. 

“Don’t hate on Lara, now,” he warns, finally surrendering the controller to his sons. He stands, grimacing as his back cracks. 

“How long has it been since you last moved?” she laughs incredulously.

“He didn’t come up to bed until 3:00 AM,” Evelyn chimes from the kitchen. 

Blip just shrugs, dropping an arm over Ginny’s shoulders and steering her over to his wife. She lets herself be led, sinking into the comfortable familiarity of her friends. 

Everything’s going fine—Ginny sets the table and Evelyn unveils a truly unnecessary amount of food for five people while Blip gets the boys washed up. The conversation flows easily enough, though Blip and Evelyn do most of the heavy lifting there. Ginny’s starving, having been too nervous to eat much of anything before hitting the doctor’s office, and falls on her food eagerly. 

When she slows, though, her stomach finally appeased enough to eat at a normal pace, Ginny notices the lull in conversation. Well, in the audible conversation, at least. Because both Evelyn and Blip are deep in a silent one, communicating with only subtle glances and facial tics. It would be fascinating and kind of funny if Ginny didn’t feel a mounting sense of dread rise in her stomach. Maybe she should’ve waited to devour her food...

In the end, Blip must draw the short straw because he’s the one who speaks. 

“How was the appointment?” he asks, concern coating his tone. 

“It was fine.” Ginny waves him off, fork slicing through the air. The twins giggle as a bit of lettuce threatens to go flying. She turns to them, eager to change the subject. “How was your week at school?”

Both Marcus and Gabe fall over themselves to tell her all about rehearsals for the the second grade play. They’re almost enthusiastic enough for Ginny to miss the look that Blip and Evelyn trade. 

“So, any other plans for the day, then?” That’s Evelyn, apparently willing to let the subject drop. 

Ginny doesn’t believe it for a moment, but answers, anyway. “I’ve got a meeting with Amelia at 4:00. I think she has a couple more endorsement deals to go over and a photo shoot she wants me to book.”

“That’s good, right?”

She shrugs in response. It’s definitely good for her bank account, which has taken something of a hit with all the specialists and trainers she’s had to see. She’s less sure it’ll be good for her headspace, but Ginny’s also not ready to go back to being agentless again, so she’s not planning on making a fuss. 

Even if Amelia doesn’t have a lot of baseball know-how, there isn’t anyone Ginny would rather have navigating the ins and outs of her current celebrity. Because if anyone knows a thing or two about celebrity, it’s Amelia Slater.

Then, the worried expressions on her friends’ faces pop back into her mind and she forces a smile. “Yeah, it’s good. Might as well do something with my down time.”

The furrow in Blip’s brow eases and Evelyn smiles back. Ginny’s glad. They’ve worked through enough shit since the season ended to have to deal with her stuff, too. 

That’s all on her.

She just wishes it didn’t feel like such an uphill battle.

 

* * *

**_Tarboro, North Carolina_ **

**_2010_ **

Ginny doesn’t think her mother knows what she does with her nights. She knows for a fact that the bottle of sleeping pills in the upstairs bathroom is lighter and lighter every week, so it’s not all that surprising. 

Still, she can’t imagine that her mom would be all too happy to find out her youngest child and only daughter creeps out of the house most nights to bike aimlessly around the neighborhood. Which is why Ginny’s so careful to avoid the creaky board that runs the length of the hallway and sneak out the back since its hinges don’t squeak.

Because if she didn’t get this strange, starlit time to herself—

Well, she doesn’t know _what_ will happen, only that it won’t be pretty. 

And sure, it’s hard being on the roads, nearly freezing at every set of oncoming headlights, but it’s harder to startle awake, shaking and sweating, from seeing them in her dreams. No, better to be scared of something real rather than whatever her brain has dredged up.

She tilts her face into the the cool night breeze, coasting for a few feet before starting to pedal again. 

It’s been quiet for a Saturday night, only a few cars sharing the streets with her. Only a few instances of her heart lodging itself in her throat. It’s not so late, either. There are plenty of lights still on in the houses Ginny bikes by. Happy families in each one, she’s sure. 

Ginny knows that her family wasn’t some model of domestic bliss, but it had been at least easier to pretend before—

The dull throb of a bass line spills into the spring night, pulling Ginny away from things she’d rather not think about. While she’d been stewing in self-pity, she’d failed to notice the growing number of cars parked on a street populated by houses that all have their own driveway. The bass grows louder, accompanied by the indistinct chatter of a crowd. 

Someone is having a party. 

It’s not until she sees the mailbox, “Hernandez” painted on the side in a kid’s sloppy letters that she even remembers the post on Will’s wall. At the time, she hadn’t even remembered which of Will’s friends was named Jesse, but now she had a distinct memory of riding along in the car on the way to a birthday party. Pouting as Will climbed out next to a mailbox festooned with shiny mylar balloons because she wasn’t allowed to go inside with him. 

The same mailbox she’s looking at now. Just minus the balloons. 

Before she’s even realized she’s made the decision, Ginny’s abandoned her bike on the curb strip and is walking into the party. 

Honestly, she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but given all the noise spilling onto the otherwise quiet street, it wasn’t the fairly quiet collection of people that greet her. 

Well, “greet” might be an oversell. 

A few guys and a girl look up at her entrance, nodding their acknowledgement of her before going back to whatever conversation they’d been having. 

Ginny’s not sure what to do with that. It’s not as if she has a lot of experience with house parties. 

She knows enough not to hover at the door like a weirdo, and instead ventures further inside the house. The steady beat of music still pulses through the air, so it’s not as if the party’s over. There have to be more people somewhere.

Sure enough, the kitchen is far more lively than the front room, practically crammed full of partygoers. There’s a line for something, so Ginny joins it, taking a moment to survey her surroundings. 

She only recognizes a few faces, which she guesses makes sense if this is a party for people Will’s age. Nearly everyone’s got a can or red cup in their hand. Through the sliding glass door to the porch, she can see a veritable mob of bodies in the backyard bopping along to a song that’s suddenly more than an indistinct bass line. Ginny doesn’t recognize it, but doubts that it matters.

Beyond the makeshift dance floor, warm light and a hazy fog spills out of the detached garage as the side door opens and shuts to admit someone. 

“You want one?”

Ginny’s attention snaps back to her immediate surroundings and lands on a guy holding out a dripping silver can to her. In front of him is a big cooler, half full of ice and more cans. So that’s what she’d been waiting for. 

She takes the offering with an uncertain smile and a, “Yeah, thanks,” before slipping out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Without thinking about it, agonizing over the years she’d listened to coaches and teachers and— _well_ —Ginny pops the tab and takes a swig. 

The slightly bitter, sour liquid spills across her tongue, making Ginny wish she’d turned down the beer when she’d had the chance. That doesn’t keep her from taking another sip, though. Somehow, this one doesn’t taste quite as bad. Another swig and she’s almost used to the taste. 

Before she knows it, the can is empty and her head is bobbing along to the beat, watching the crush of people dance.

Ginny likes dancing. In theory, anyway. She’s still never been to a school dance, but she likes flailing around her room whenever she can’t stand the thought of sitting still to study for one more minute.

And maybe it’s the beer she’d just downed, hitting her mostly empty stomach and spiraling straight into her bloodstream, or maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t want to feel so fucking lonely anymore, but Ginny steps onto the lawn, pushes into the wall of bodies, and joins in. It’s not belonging, not even close, but God, it feels good to even feel this close to other people right now. 

She lets the music carry her away.

It loosens something in her chest, makes her feel a little more normal. Or at least less on edge. 

Enough that she doesn’t really even mind all the attention she’s drawing. 

Although, that might have something to do with the fact that it’s not the kind of attention that she’s gotten so used to. The appreciative glances and smiles she draws are nothing like the snide whispers that follow her on the field and at school. Most of the admiration in Ginny’s life has come from adults, not her peers. 

It’s a nice change, if she’s being honest. 

Mostly, she ignores the looks and the offers to dance, though she does join in with a group of laughing girls for a few songs when one of them twirls her around without warning. She shies away from guys, though, especially when their focus is decidedly south of her face. That’s not what tonight is about. Not that she actually knows what tonight is about.

(Freedom, maybe. Or something that feels an awful lot like it.)

That changes, though, when she spots a very familiar face as she’s leaving the kitchen to go back to dancing, another beer in hand. It stops her cold. 

Leaning against the porch railing, surveying the makeshift dance floor is Scott Elling.

A throb of interest pushes at her stomach, enough to make Ginny sidle up next to him, tilt her head, and look up at him through her lashes. _This is how people flirt, right?_  she thinks. 

(She’d always liked Scott. He was the first person she’d ever had an actual crush on. The first person she’d met, at least. To her eyes, he’d been totally dreamy. Cute and nice and a pretty good catcher. Not good enough for a full ride anywhere, but good enough to lead their small town’s Varsity team. She’d never thought she had a chance with him, but maybe things are different two years down the line.)

Thankfully, what comes out of her mouth is the slightly cooler, “Hey.”

He doesn’t startle, like he knows she’s been there the whole time and only now has chosen to acknowledge her. For a long moment, he just considers her, clearly trying to put a name to her face. Finally, he gets it, his wide mouth curling in a grin. “Ginny, right? You played a couple games with the Varsity team when I was a senior.”

She smiles and almost feels like it makes it to her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Heard you got scouted at the state finals.”

Her smile freezes, but she still manages to say, “That sounds right, too.”

Scott nods, and his eyes take on a look that Ginny’s all too familiar with. It's the look everyone gets just before they say, “I’m so sorry about your father.” She’s heard it more times than she can count in the past few weeks. Sometimes, she's sure she’ll scream if she hears it one more time.

Not eager to test her theory, Ginny leans into him and presses her mouth against his. It’s impulsive and more than a little reckless, but if he pulls away, the first words out of his mouth aren’t going to be what they would’ve been. And if he doesn’t, well. It’s pretty hard to offer condolences when your mouth is otherwise occupied. 

He doesn’t.

He tastes like salt and beer, but she guesses it’s better than the blood she usually tastes when her pop comes up in conversation. Her hand lays itself on his hip and he finally presses back. When she pulls away, she bites her lip, the picture of nervous anticipation.

“You wanna get out of here?” she asks, pitching her voice low and sultry.

It must have worked because Scott nods eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go."

 

* * *

As she helps to clear the table of brunch dishes, Ginny feels her phone start to vibrate. She sets down the stack of plates and fishes the thing out of her pocket. 

The name flashing across the screen should make her smile. It doesn’t.

It probably means something that a call from the guy she’s dating fills her more with exhaustion than anything else. 

Still, she answers because she’s not a monster. 

“Hey, Noah.”

“Ginny!” he greets enthusiastically. It almost makes her feel bad for her own lackluster greeting, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Um,” she hedges, unsure of whether or not she wants to agree to a Noah plan without knowing all the details first. 

“Because I heard that Arcade Fire is playing a secret show up in Berkeley tonight. Even if it’s just a rumor, it should be fun to check out. You in?”

Ginny’s not sure she can even name a song by Arcade Fire. 

Sighing and trying to sound genuinely bummed, she says, “I don’t think I can. I’ve got meetings later this afternoon and need to head into Petco to kickstart my training.”

He accepts the brush off easily enough, switching gears and latching onto that last bit. “Right! How’d the appointment go?”

As vaguely as possible, Ginny gives him a rundown. It’s not like he actually understands anything about her training process, the details would just go over his head. To be fair, if he gave her anything more than the most basic explanation of his work, she’d be lost, too. 

Still, he sounds excited when he says, “That’s awesome, Ginny! You’ll have to—” he cuts off as something on his end of the line catches his attention. All Ginny can make out are muffled voices before he’s back. “Sorry about that. There’s some kind of glitch I’ve got to take a look at right away. Talk soon?”

“Yeah, talk soon. Bye, Noah.” 

He hangs up and Ginny puts her phone back down, maybe a little more forcefully than she intended.

“Trouble in paradise?” sing songs Evelyn, having apparently already loaded the dishwasher and sent her boys to the backyard to play. 

Ginny sighs, slumping against the kitchen island. It comes as no surprise that Evelyn’s sussed her out. Still, it’s a little embarrassing to be read so easily. 

“Is it wrong to say I’m using him for his body?”

Evelyn’s nose wrinkles. “I feel like there are other assets of his you should exploit first.”

A bright, unexpected peal of laughter bursts out of Ginny. She claps her hand over her mouth, quaking a little with the force of her amusement. For her part, Evelyn just grins, leaning in conspiratorially.

“C’mon. Tell me I’m wrong,” she eggs Ginny on. “The boy looks like a strong gust of wind would snap him in half. If his body’s all you’re using him for, then it’s no wonder you’re having issues.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” she says, knowing the last few fits of giggles make it hard to pull off the prim tone she’d aimed for. 

Evelyn just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but are they? I can respect that you’re less,” she pauses, searching for a word, though what she settles on makes Ginny snort, “candid than I am, but you’ve always given up the goods eventually. Here I am, weeks into this fling, and I’ve gotten nothing about this guy from you. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Which makes me think there’s not much to tell in that department.”

Ginny sighs, wishing, not for the first time, that she’d befriended less perceptive people. 

The fact of the matter is that Noah’s fine in bed. She usually enjoys herself and he always checks to make sure she’s satisfied. Which, okay, kind of kills any of the romance she might have felt, but it’s not as if it’s that big of a deal. She gets off. He gets off. It all works out. 

Even if Noah still feels more like a friend that she sometimes has sex with rather than the guy she’s actually dating. Or would be dating if she ever agreed to any of his outlandish plans.

“I don’t know Ev,” she admits. “I want to like him more than I do, but he can be so intense. And not in the way that you want to hear about.”

“Would you rather keep things casual?”

“I think we are,” she says. “I mean, we haven’t talked about anything important. But it’s been so long since casual was even an option for me—”

“I’m gonna need you to stop right there,” her friend interrupts. “You just turned 24. It has not been ‘so long’ since you last did anything, okay?”

Ginny rolls her eyes, but nods anyway. Evelyn’s not wrong, after all. 

“Fine. Then trust me when I say that I’ve done casual and this doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, do you want it to?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it?

 

* * *

**_Tarboro, North Carolina  
2010_ **

It turns out, neither Ginny nor Scott really have anywhere to go. Ginny’s mom is hopefully sleeping at home and Scott’s back in his parents’ house for the summer. They satisfy themselves with a quick, sloppy make out session in the slightly cramped front seat of his car, long enough for even Ginny to feel the effects of her beers wear off. Which she doesn’t even mind because Scott’s hands and lips make her feel pretty giggly all on their own. 

When he finally pulls away, Ginny has to blink out of the pleasant, dreamy haze. The first thing to come into focus are his swollen lips. She has to check the urge to reach out and touch them. She did that. 

Scott smiles. “I should probably get you home, huh?”

A quick check of the dashboard clock—3:12 in the morning—confirms that. So, only pausing to load her bike into the back of his hatchback, they cruise off into the early morning. 

Back at her house, Scott climbs out of the driver’s seat and insists on unloading and steering her bike up the driveway himself. Ginny doesn’t know what to do other than let him. A boy walking her home for the first time? That’s the kind of normal experience she’s always wanted. 

(Even if she hadn’t expected to do it after an illicit visit to a party or letting his hands under her shirt in his car.)

He even kisses her goodnight after trading phones for each other’s number, promising to text her tomorrow. 

Ginny stands in the driveway and watches him drive off. Stands there until she can no longer even hear the rumble of his motor. 

Honestly, she’s not even sure how she makes it back in the house, up the stairs, and finally into her bed. Only knows that she hasn’t managed to wake up her mother judging by the lack of infuriated shouting.

For once, she sleeps without dreaming. 

And when she wakes up, after the first solid night’s sleep she can remember in weeks, there’s already a text message already waiting on her phone. 

**Scott**  
_hey :) had a fun time last night. wanna hang after school sometime this week?_

Before she can second guess herself, she taps out:

_love to. lmk when ur free ;)_

As it turns out, being home from college and without a summer job leaves a guy without a lot of free time. Scott starts coming over nearly every day, either to hang out or pick Ginny up so they can ride around town. Or, more often, find a place to park and talk. 

Or not talk.

Which, thankfully isn’t just confined to Scott’s car. As fun as the whole teenage rebellion thing is—sneaking out with a boy, making out with him in his car—she’d really rather not get caught making out in that car. 

Well, good thing there’s an entire empty house to make use of. 

Sometimes, they sit in the living room and watch anything that isn’t baseball. Scott doesn’t ask when she changes the channel the first time, but he also doesn’t forget. Ginny’s grateful, even as she tries not to think about the fact that not so long ago, it was her and Jordan sitting here.

More often, though, she’ll lead him up to her room. 

And. Ginny’s never given much thought to her virginity. Come on. She’s had other things to worry about in her life. 

But when Scott’s got her sprawled out on her bed, his hands on her waist, making their way under her t-shirt, it’s hard not to think about it. 

Which is why, one early afternoon, she puts a condom from the stash Will thinks he’s hidden so well in his hand. She doesn’t want to think about it. Not now and not in the future. 

Besides, she _likes_  Scott. This is what girls do with the boys they like, isn’t it?

He’s sweet and can make her laugh, which really no one’s been able to do lately. 

Mostly, though, she likes that he doesn’t make her _talk_. It seems like everyone— her mom, the grief counselor, her few friends—wants her to talk about the things that she’s feeling and thinking all the damn time when Ginny would just rather forget. No, Scott is definitely not interested in what she has to say, and she doesn’t even really mind. 

The giddiness she feels hanging out with Scott is practically foreign. Ginny’s never felt this strange mix of rebellion and elation and excitement before. 

It’s intoxicating. 

And so much fucking better than that sense-muffling numbness she’d been forcing herself to slog through. 

The problem, of course, is that the giddy lightness gives way all too easily to the heavy, draining _nothing._ It doesn’t matter what trouble she gets up to with Scott and his friends—parties with beer, late night convenience store trips after she gets high for the first time, bonfires, all the games of truth or dare and seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle she never got to play. It’s all so much fun while it’s happening. Ginny smiles and laughs and feels so blessedly normal, she’d cry if she weren’t sure she’d run out of tears.

But then...

She’ll go to bed on a high and wake up back in the depths of her apathy.  She’ll chafe under her mother’s worried glances and the crushing silence of the house. 

But things are better when Scott’s around. She’s better. Feels more human, at the very least. 

And at this point, that’s all Ginny wants.

 

* * *

By the time Ginny gets back to her hotel room, she’s exhausted. Not just from playing what was, in retrospect, a too rowdy game of tag with the Sanders boys, either. Much as she loves them—and their parents—it has been so draining to be around people lately. Shouldering their concern, even when it’s coming from a place of genuine affection, has been like a second, unseen injury she’s had to deal with. She has to move carefully, always mindful that one wrong step will tear off the scab, inviting more worry. And Blip and Evelyn are masters of affectionate worry. 

She’d kind of like to collapse face first on her mattress and sleep for the next fourteen hours. 

But, of course, she has to meet with Amelia before that can happen. 

To be perfectly honest, Ginny’s still not sure how she feels about having her agent back. Sure, there’s no one else she’d rather have on her side in business dealings, but that doesn’t soothe the sting of her abandonment. Even if Ginny’d been the one to tell her to go in the first place. 

Just another thing to work through. 

At precisely 4:00, there’s a sharp rap on the door. 

Ginny doesn’t even bother to check the peephole. Only one person in existence can make her presence felt so clearly with one knock. 

“Hey, Amelia,” she greets, smiling wanly. 

Amelia’s eyes flick up and down her form, assessing, cataloguing, and finally taking on a worried glint. Her eyebrows draw ever so slightly closer together and her perfectly lipsticked mouth purses, but she doesn’t say anything about what she sees. Ginny’s not sure whether or not she should be grateful. 

“How was your doctor’s appointment?” the blonde asks, settling onto the sofa and digging her tablet out of her briefcase. Right to the point, then. “No problems?”

Ginny sits down next to her, shaking her head. “Nope. No problems.”

Amelia’s eyes narrow. “You don’t seem that excited.”

“I don’t know if months of excruciating physical therapy and strength training is something to be excited about.”

All she gets in response is a flinty-eyed squint. Somehow, her agent manages to pull it off. 

“It’ll be good,” she says, closer to honesty, “to get back in form. Good but hard.”

“You’re no stranger to hard work, G.”

They share a quick smile, Ginny looking away when she realizes how long it’s been since she and Amelia last genuinely smiled at each other. 

She clears her throat and asks, “So, what’ve you got for me?”

And they get down to business. 

In spite of her injury, there are still plenty of people who want a piece of Ginny Baker. There’ve been tons of requests for photoshoots, for everything from _GQ_  to _Harper’s Bazaar_. Not to mention all the offers she’s gotten for TV shows, and not just filmed interviews. Apparently, there are a couple sitcoms that want a cameo from her. Amelia gives her the scripts to go over, but even a cursory glance doesn’t fill her with hope. 

Seeing Ginny’s wrinkled nose, Amelia holds her hand out with a wry smile. 

“Don’t feel like you have to say yes to any of those. I’m sure you’ll get better offers.”

Ginny’s nose doesn’t unwrinkle at that prospect and her agent’s head tilts to study her.

“Or we can look into other options. I know you passed on the memoir, but there are other projects we can line up.”

“Is there—” Ginny pulls at her lip, thinking. She begins again, “Is there anything I can do that’s not about _me_?” Amelia frowns at that and Ginny doesn’t know how to explain better. Everything she does is about her. Still, she tries. “Like volunteering or something? I don’t want to do a reality show or a podcast or anything else that’s just about building my brand or whatever.”

She would love to say that the Ginny Baker brand can go straight to hell, but it’s basically the only thing she can leverage into making it back into the lineup come spring. For better or worse, it’s gotten her this far. 

Maybe at some point it will stop feeling like a costume she sometimes wears. Maybe it’ll start feeling more like just another facet of her.

Amelia considers for a long moment, calculating potential positives no doubt. 

“I’ll look into it,” she eventually replies, collecting her things and standing. Apparently that’s the end of it. She gives Ginny a last hard look at the door. Ginny, well used to being studied, has come to expect this treatment when people leave her company. Like they’re not sure if they should be leaving her at all. What she doesn’t expect, though, is for her agent to give her a quick, almost brusque hug before heading for the elevator. 

It’s so far out of left field that Ginny stares after Amelia long after she’s gone.

When she finally manages to get a grip on herself, she shakes her head and closes the door.  

As she’s done so many times in the past few weeks, Ginny drifts into the bathroom. It is, objectively, a strange place to spend more time than necessary, but it’s not her fault that the architects of the Omni put a window in there with a view of Petco Park. 

Before today, though, it felt so much further than the one block that separated them. 

But today, after receiving her doctor’s news, it feels within her grasp.

And for the first time since she collapsed three outs away from a no-hitter, Ginny’s ready to reach out for it. 

But first, a nap.

 

* * *

**_Tarboro, North Carolina  
2010_ **

For the third time today, Ginny’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She ignores it. 

Instead, she stares at the card in her hand, the embossed San Diego Padres logo on it nearly worn away from the number of times she’s run her fingers over it. _Joe Amazzo, Scout, Southeast Division_  it reads in dark blue. 

How is just this little bit of card stock so much more appealing than answering Scott’s call?

It’s strange, but she doesn’t think she’s supposed to find teenage rebellion boring. 

It hit her sometime this weekend, wedged onto a couch between Scott and one of his friends in someone’s basement, having just finished her turn at spin the bottle. Just two weeks ago, the thrill of kissing a stranger had been enough to send her into a fit of giggles that lasted the whole night. Now, she’d just sat down from having her tongue in another girl’s mouth and she didn’t really feel anything. Just sweaty and a little headache-y from all the noise and smoke hanging in the air.

Going to parties, making small talk with people she doesn’t really know and probably won’t remember in a few years, drinking shitty beer, and coming home smelling like smoke after making out with Scott in the backseat of his hatchback; none of it feels particularly exciting anymore, and it’s only been three weeks. 

Morning doesn’t even have to come for the gray haze of apathy to take over now. 

It’s time to turn the page on this short chapter. 

So, sitting on the back porch’s steps, overlooking the yard where her pop taught her everything he knew, Ginny pulls out her phone and dials. 

“This is Joe Amazzo,” comes a slightly familiar voice down the line. 

“Hi, Mr. Amazzo,” she says, feeling too young for this. “This is, um. This is Ginny Baker?”

“Oh, I’d almost given up hope of hearing from you.”

“I’m sorry about that. My dad—” she cuts herself off, unsure of how much the scout already knows. He works in the southeast, but there’s no reason that he would’ve paid attention to the news out of a small town like Tarboro. “There was a death in the family.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Ginny,” he says, and the understanding in his voice makes something ache inside her. “Are you calling to let me know you’d rather not be considered for the draft?”

“The opposite, actually.” This is what her pop would want. 

There’s a long pause and she has to check the urge to see if the call is disconnected.

Finally, Mr. Amazzo says, “That’s good to hear. When I saw your reel, I knew that I wanted to see your arm in action. Man, am I glad you did. That game you threw for the state championship was masterful.”

She says all the right things, thanks him for the compliments, but she’s stuck on something. 

“Wait, you saw my recruitment reel?”

He chuckles. “A lot of us have. You’ve caused something of a stir in the front office, young lady.”

Ginny knows how the scouting process works. Getting her noticed was practically her pop’s second, unpaid job, and he always made sure to keep her updated. At seventeen, she’s been to her fair share of combines, though those were mostly for scouts from college programs, a launch pad to bigger and brighter things. She got into those on the strength of the video she and her pop had spliced together sometime in her junior year. They’d added footage to it as necessary, as she got a better handle on more pitches than her fastball, curve, and screwgie. 

What she hadn’t really realized, though, was that that tape had made it’s way up the chain. That someone who actually works for an MLB team had seen it. More than one someone, apparently.

She doesn’t divulge any of this to Mr. Amazzo, instead breathing out a stunned, “Wow.”

“Now, do you have an agent?”

“Um,” she stutters. “Well, my dad would’ve...”

He makes a sympathetic noise, but doesn’t offer any of the usual comments. “That’s not a problem. What about other offers? Scholarships, other scouts?”

“I have a full ride to NC State,” she admits. The slight whine of the screen door alerts her to the fact that she’s no longer alone on the porch, but Ginny keeps her attention on the conversation. 

“A good school,” the scout acknowledges, “but not one with a great track record of sending its alums to the show.”

Ginny knows this, but there hadn’t been that many schools willing to offer her a full scholarship to play ball, even with all the recruitment camps she’s attended. 

Besides, “Well, I hadn’t really thought that a pro club would scout me right out of high school. I figured they’d want to wait and see if I’d be worth the gamble.”

“That might be true with other ball clubs, but like I said, you’ve caused quite a stir in San Diego. Even if you hadn’t given it much thought, how does it sound now? Going pro and signing with the Padres?”

“It would be an honor to play for San Diego,” she says, ignoring her mother’s presence hovering behind her. It becomes harder the longer she has to, so it’s a good thing that the call ends without too much more fuss.

The silence stretches out until Ginny can’t take the weight of her mother’s silent disapproval for one more second.

“What?” she asks without turning around. 

Her mom sighs, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet as she steps closer. “Ginny bean, don’t you think you should consider—”

“I might not get drafted again, Mom,” she sighs, finally craning around and peering up at the one parent she has left. “If I go to NC State, there’s nothing to say that I’ll catch the eye of another scout or that I’ll even be able to play by the time I’m 21. This is what dad would want.”

Her mom doesn’t argue with that. Because there’s no part of it that’s untrue, particularly where her husband’s wishes come into play. That doesn’t mean that she’s convinced, though.

“Just make sure you think about this, baby. Make sure it’s what _you_  want.”

Rather than roll her eyes or ignore the advice, Ginny does. She thinks long and hard about it for a week. She thinks about it through the long graduation ceremony she sits through. She thinks about it on the nighttime bike rides she’s resumed. She thinks about it all the way up to the moment her phone begins to vibrate late in the evening on June 8th. 

For a minute, she just stares, not recognizing the number, but knowing all the same who was on the other end. What news she would get. 

If only she would pick up the phone.

Heart in her throat, she answers.

“Genevieve Baker?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my pleasure to inform you have been selected by the San Diego Padres in the 27th round of this year’s Rule 4 Draft.”

Anything else the unfamiliar voice says fades away into a muted murmur. The details about her contract and deadlines and all the minutiae don’t matter. Not when she’ll have to go over it all when she signs the thing anyway. 

And there’s no way she’s not signing. 

Because for the first time in weeks Ginny has a path to walk again. That path, for better or worse is the same one her father set her down when she was four years old. Even if he’s not here, she is. 

And she is going to make him proud.

 

* * *

She knows she’s not supposed to be doing this. 

Not without the supervision of a trainer or the pitching coach, at least. 

But standing in Petco’s pitching lanes, Ginny finds that she likes being alone here as much as she likes driving alone in her car.

Besides, there’s something right about taking this moment to herself. The moment where baseball comes back into her life for the second time. 

In the corner, waiting patiently, is the same cart of baseballs that had stood silent witness to her throwing frenzy the night of her failed start.

Warily, Ginny picks one from the pile. There are plenty of newer balls in the bin, but the slightly cracked leather feels right in her hand. Like that, a chain reaction goes off inside her—her jumbled emotions untangling into something that feels much closer to order. There are still a few knots to work through, but it suddenly feels so much easier to breathe. To exist, even. Ginny wants to laugh or shout or jump, do something to mark the occasion.

She doesn’t, just turns to the mound.

The last piece settles back into place as she climbs up the hill. Even if she’d maybe rather be out on the field or even in the bullpen, there’s something right about standing here. With a glove on her left hand and a ball in her right, Ginny feels like she knows how the world works again.

“Baker,” comes a gruff, familiar voice from the door. Ginny hadn’t even realized how much she missed it until she hears it again. “Are you supposed to be doing that?”

Ginny turns and tilts her head to regard her captain. He’s leaning on the railing, squinting at her worriedly, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. She looks back at the ball in her hand and smiles. Just a little, but the fact that it’s there is all that matters. 

“Just got cleared today,” she tells Mike, rolling out her shoulders and setting herself on the rubber. 

“Screwgie,” he says, before she can even deliver. Ginny whips around, a sure balk in a game, but it’s not like there’s an umpire to call her out. Mike shrugs at the question plain on her face. “You drop your hip a little when you’re gonna throw a screwball.”

Ginny frowns and goes back through the setup to see if he’s right. Just as she rocks back from her lean in, she feels it. On cue, Mike chimes, “There.”

She tosses him an exasperated look. “You couldn’t have let me know I’ve been telegraphing my pitches sometime _during_  the season?”

He shrugs. “It’s not that obvious. Takes some looking to really see it.”

“All I’m hearing is that you’ve been staring at my hips all season,” she snorts, resetting for another pitch.

When Mike doesn’t reply, not even after she leaves her slider hanging, she spares him another glance. 

He’s already looking back, his head tipped to the side curiously as he watches her. Even in the low lighting of the pitching lane, Ginny can see how intently he’s studying her. 

She swallows down the wave of—something that wants to capsize her. As much as she knows she should look away, break eye contact, Ginny can’t bring herself to. After a beat too long, Mike straightens and clears his throat. 

Ginny digs a toe into the ground. 

She’s not sure what she’s expecting to find when she looks up, but it’s definitely not Mike climbing down the stairs, glove in hand. 

“What are you doing?” she demands, pushing aside the intense moment with him the way she’s sure she’ll have to push many moments aside in the future.

“C’mon,” Mike grins, apparently willing to follow her lead, “would you really rather throw at the mat than an actual catcher?”

Ginny considers for a moment. “You sure your knees can take it, old man?”

He rolls his eyes and, God. She really did miss him. Attitude and all. 

“As long as you don’t make me jump all over the place trying to wrangle your wild pitches, rookie,” he tosses over his shoulder as he strides to the back of the alley. 

She gives him a sarcastic, “Hah hah,” as he sinks into his crouch and Mike just flaps his mitt at her impatiently. 

As Ginny leans in, she inhales smooth and steady, only releasing the breath when she straightens and sets for the pitch. It’s an automatic response, trained into her lungs from years and years of practice. Usually that final breath before the wind up is her last chance to calm her nerves, force herself to relax.

Tonight, though, she doesn’t even need it. Her body sings as muscles tense and coil exactly the way they’re meant to. Everything, from the dirt beneath her feet to the ball in her hand, feels _right_.  

The only thing that’ll feel better is finally getting that ball from her hand to the mitt sixty feet away. 

So, she winds up and lets it fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are, frankly, many things I could tell you about this fic. I could say how many knots I tied myself into trying to get some kind of theme out of this thing. Or the way I delved way too deep into things that didn't even make it into the final draft. But I won't.
> 
> That said, this was an excellent exercise and I did, no matter how I make it sound, have a lot of fun wrestling with this idea. I just have so many ideas about Ginny in this time frame, it was hard to cut it down. (yes, I did, in fact, cut things out of the final draft)
> 
> Also, huge thank you to everyone who talked me through my spiral about this particular fic a few weeks ago! It was (and still is) greatly appreciated!! Hopefully you all know who you are <3
> 
> Even bigger thank you to Kels and the folks over at Pitch Street Team for keeping the fight for this show alive! You're the real heroes!
> 
> I know this one might've been something of a toughie, with the almost complete lack of dialogue, but if you made it this far, I would love to hear your thoughts!! Here or over on my blog, which is [megaphonemonday](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)!


	36. another chance for us to get it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crimson_kiss17: I'd love to see how Mike and Ginny end up together at the end of a night that began with him showing up with Rachel and her still with Noah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: starts with Ginny/Noah and Mike/Rachel, New Year's Eve, not angsty for a breakup fic
> 
> chapter title: Oprah quote, "Cheers to a new year and _chance for us to get it right_."

When Noah asked about Ginny’s plans for New Year’s, she hadn’t thought twice about it. After all, this was the guy who’d asked her to take a world tour after their second date, the guy who’d bought out a restaurant for their first. Asking about New Year’s plans in November was a little odd, sure, but she’d gotten kind of used to Noah Casey’s brand of odd.

(Used to it, but it really hadn’t grown on her.)

Still, Ginny replied without much thought, “I think the team usually hosts something? I’ll probably go to that.”

He’d grinned lopsidedly back and said, “Great! Good to have a plan already.”

Which could have been a compliment for her scheduling skills, but Ginny was pretty sure it was more along the lines of Noah inviting himself to the Annual Padres New Year’s Bash.

Sure enough, a month and a half later, Noah was her New Year’s Eve date. 

She’d only allowed it because she really didn’t want to be the only single person there. Well, the only single person among her friends, at least. Plenty of the front office staff and quite a few of her teammates were sure to show up stag, but it wasn’t like Ginny was going to spend the majority of the evening with them. 

No, she’d hang with Blip and Ev, like always. And Mike and Rachel, too, if they made the trip down from LA. Couples, though. She’d probably hang out with couples because that was her life now.

It would be nice not to be the odd one out for once. 

And walking into the swanky, bay front restaurant the team had rented for the evening with Noah at her side, Ginny even believed that. 

Noah whistled low after they cleared the coat check and finally got a good look at the venue. A huge bank of windows dominated one wall. During the day, Ginny was sure that they offered a beautiful view of the bay, but with darkness descended, just reflected the rosy glow of the room. A room which was nearly full to the brim with employees of the San Diego Padres, eating and chatting and drinking and even dancing.

It reminded Ginny of the Nike party—with admittedly fewer pictures of her face plastered on the walls. There were still a few, but mostly within team shots: highlights from the past season. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“Looks like you baseball players really know how to party.”

Ginny shook her head to clear the train of thoughts from her mind as much as the observation. She laughed anyway, elbowing him in the side. Teasingly, she replied, “If most of these guys had a say, there’d be three kegs, a bowl of chips, and a beer pong tournament. This is definitely the front office’s choice.”

“Well, thank God for the front office, then,” he drawled, his long, lanky arm draping over Ginny’s mostly bare shoulders and reeling her into his side. “Because I was a beer pong champ at Cal Tech and I’d hate to embarrass any of your teammates.”

She laughed again, more honestly this time. “Talk to me when you’re a Roomba pong champ, Casey.”

“Roomba pong?”

Ginny was so caught up in detailing the game she’d learned with Cara, she didn’t notice Noah’s arm dropping to her waist or the fact that he’d guided her out to the cleared space operating as a dance floor. She didn’t really notice until he twirled her around, words falling away.

It wasn’t the unexpected spin that startled her, though. No, that was down to the sight of Mike and Rachel walking into the restaurant, looking perfectly cozy together.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t been a fight per se to get Rachel to agree to attend the Padres’ New Year’s party. But if it had been, Mike would’ve been the winner. 

Which was maybe why Rachel had been so quiet in the car ride over. 

To make up for it, Mike was determined to make sure she had a good time. He even laid his hand, palm up, on the console between their seats, but she was too busy watching the scenery flash by to notice. 

When they finally pulled up to the valet stand outside the party, Mike hopped out of the car and jogged around the front to hand Rachel out because who said chivalry was dead? She already had the door open, but gave him her hand and a funny little smile as she climbed down. 

With a hand low on her back, Mike led her into the party. (Maybe one of his last as a member of the team. Who knew what his knees or even his back were going to spring on him this year?)

Music thumped through the restaurant, which was admirably doubling as an extremely exclusive club tonight. It took a moment for Mike’s eyes to adjust to the low lights, but sure enough, he could make out plenty of his teammates and their dates tearing it up on the dance floor. 

Shaking his head and grinning, he helped Rachel out of her coat and held his hand out for her purse. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d ended up holding her bag because Rachel got sick of carrying it around. Might as well get ahead of it now. 

“Actually,” Rachel said, bringing the small bag up to her chest, as if to protect it, “I’ll hang onto it. The network wants me on call tonight, so I need to keep my phone handy.”

That was the first Mike was hearing of this, but he tried his best not to react. 

“They expecting some big shake up on New Year’s Eve?” he asked with a grin that was already starting to feel brittle, handing the coats over and accepting a claim ticket. 

“You know pro athletes,” she shrugged. 

Mike did. But he wasn’t sure he liked the edge of superiority in her tone. 

Rather than respond, he looked back over the crowd of dancing bodies. Almost immediately, his attention snagged on one in particular. 

It’d been a while since he’d seen Ginny Baker so carefree. Whenever he joined in on one of her postseason workouts, which were carefully monitored by a team of physical therapists and sometimes the coaching staff, she was all business. Focused. Intense. 

Out on the dance floor, though, her fluttery skirt swirling around her thighs, she was lit up. Dark curls bounced with her movements, whipping into her face and catching on her ears. Her head tilted back and Mike could hear the echoes of her laugh rattle through his mind even if there was no way he could actually hear it over the music. 

Then, from clear across the room, Ginny’s sparkling eyes connected with his.

Time (and Mike) froze as he stood, unable to look away from this woman who was his teammate and— Nothing. Nothing more. 

Too startled to do much else, Mike nodded to her, a simple chin up of acknowledgement.

Her chin tipped up in response, but his rookie’s smile was reserved for the man twirling back into his arms. 

Mike shook himself as Rachel’s hand tucked into his elbow. He looked down at her and smiled, ignoring the fact that, much as wanted this to work, someone else had just made his heart leap.

And that someone else was currently so fucking off limits—not just because she had a boyfriend and Mike had Rachel.

So, Mike did the smart thing. He smiled down at his ex-wife/current girlfriend and steered her away from the dance floor and away from anything like temptation.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Ginny hadn’t properly weighed the pros and cons of bringing Noah to this party. All she’d really thought about was how much she didn’t want to be an awkward third wheel, hanging out with Blip and Ev because she hated mingling on her own. But she was starting to think that being the odd one out would have been better than this.

This, being constantly reminded of just how much she and Noah were not the Sanders and probably never would be.

(It wasn’t that she didn’t like Noah. He was sweet and a little goofy and very cute. They had fun together and she liked him just fine. But Ginny didn’t think she’d ever like him _enough_. Certainly not in the way Evelyn and Blip liked—loved—each other.

And, of course, there was also the fact that she happened to like someone else more. Much, much more.)

Maybe if everyone else weren’t _quite_ so happy, it would be easier. 

Which was probably a terrible thing to think, Ginny scolded herself as she and Noah waited for their drinks at the bar. 

It was a good thing that Blip and Evelyn had worked out whatever issues they’d been having at the end of the season. They were Ginny’s closest friends; of course she was thrilled they were so solid. 

Of their own volition, Ginny’s eyes slid over to the real problem. 

Mike and Rachel cut through the crowd, Mike’s hand resting protectively in the small of Rachel’s back. He crowded against her as they snuck out onto the balcony, no doubt looking for a little privacy. Not that the lack of it had kept them apart. It seemed like every time Ginny looked (and maybe she was looking a little too often) her captain and his (ex?) wife were intertwined. Mike’s arm around Rachel’s waist, Rachel’s head against Mike’s shoulder as they talked to Oscar, the way he brushed her hair away from her face. Every bit Ginny saw made her stomach twist unpleasantly.

And now, shrouded in the dark of the balcony, Ginny had no idea _what_ they were doing. 

Whoever first said _Out of sight, out of mind_ , was full of it. 

“What do you think?”

Ginny shook herself, wondering what she’d missed. She cocked her ear towards Noah, like she hadn’t been able to hear. Which was close enough to the truth. 

Grinning, he snaked an arm around her back to pull her closer. His lips dropped to her ear, and Ginny wished that she felt, well, _anything_ from the flirtation. There was a faint sense of fondness—Noah and she probably could’ve been pretty good friends if things had worked out differently—but not much else.

“How about we get out of here? I’ve got a helicopter and pilot on retainer. We could ring in the New Year in real style.”

The bright burble of laughter popped out of her all on its own, but when Noah didn’t join in in, Ginny had to rein it in. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, head cocked to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because this might be the only New Year’s I get to spend as a Padre?”

Waving her off, he replied, “You’re gonna be on this team for a long time, Ginny.”

“You don’t know that,” she argued, trying not to think how much more comforting the sentiment had been coming from someone else. _Hey, Baker, you’re not going anywhere_. “Anything could happen. I could get traded or sent back down or my arm—”

“I thought your arm was feeling better.”

It was. But it had been feeling fine before it ended her season, too, and Ginny wasn’t willing to take anything for granted. Not anymore. 

Which was why, looking at the man standing next to her, Ginny realized what was going to happen. 

They weren’t even fighting. She was sure that if she said she wanted to stay, Noah wouldn’t mind. And she did want to stay. Just not with him as her date. 

“Noah,” she sighed.

His eyebrows drew together, but a slight smile still played across his mouth. “Ginny,” he drawled back. 

“I think you should go.”

There was no pretend misunderstanding, no cute miscommunication or attempts to change her mind. Noah’s eyes roamed her face, a little confused and hurt, but he didn’t give voice to those feelings. Instead, he just studied her for a long moment before apparently reaching some conclusion of his own.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she replied firmly.

Noah’s eyes searched her one last time before he sighed and nodded his acceptance. He leaned in and brushed her cheek with a kiss, parting with, “You know where to find me if you change your mind,” and a half smile. 

As she watched him go, suddenly feeling lighter than she had in months, Ginny was certain that she wouldn’t.

 

* * *

  

When Rachel turned away from a conversation they were having with Oscar and Charlie with a polite smile to answer her phone, Mike should have known what would happen. 

Honestly, though, a lot of his attention was taken up with the way Ginny was picking food off her—ugh—date’s plate. This, in spite of her own plate sitting unattended before her. Specifically, though, Mike was distracted by the stupid, fond little smile on the guy’s face, totally unnoticed by the pitcher currently stealing another crab puff. 

Mike’s attention was pulled back to his immediate surroundings by Rachel’s voice, an undercurrent of excitement that he knew all too well coloring her words. 

“Sorry about that,” she gushed, her hand sneaking into the crook of his elbow as she prepared to pull him away. 

“I hope it wasn’t an emergency,” Charlie replied, pleasant enough. 

“Actually, it was my producer. It sounds like there’s some kind of story out of the Big Ten that’s going to break tonight. I need to get into the studio.”

Rachel looked up at him expectantly. Mike blinked. 

“Oh, do you want the valet ticket?”

“Do you want me to get the car while you get our coats?” she asked, tone a little frostier than he felt he deserved.

“You want me to come with you?” 

Rachel’s smile froze on her face and Mike didn’t have to look at his GM or Charlie to know that they’d just winced in sympathy. 

“We’ll just let you discuss this in private,” Oscar murmured, pulling his boss away from the suddenly tense situation. 

Privacy actually sounded pretty ideal right now. 

With his hand at the small of her back, he steered Rachel through the throng and out onto the unoccupied balcony. No one would bother coming out here until it was time for fireworks, and those were still more than an hour away. He could tell from the set of her shoulders that she did not appreciate being led around, but figured the discretion was worth her annoyance.

Once they were outside, away from prying eyes and ears, Rachel stepped away from his hand, turning back to him with crossed arms. Either against the breeze off the bay or in annoyance. Her chin tipped up, jaw squared and Mike sighed. He knew the signs. A fight was practically inevitable now.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his best to cut it off before it could really get going, though. 

“Rach, this is important to me, I can’t just leave.”

“A _party_ is important to you? More important than my job?”

He huffed, trying to rein in his frustration. “You know what I meant. I’m not trying to keep you here if you need to go. Which was why I asked if you wanted the valet ticket.”

His wife’s eyes narrowed. Which, in the long and varied history of their relationship, had never been a good thing. 

“Yet when I told you I didn’t want to come tonight, you still just had to convince me!”

“Because I thought it would be nice to come to a team party with you again!” he exclaimed, wincing a little at how loud he’d gotten.

Rachel didn’t flinch. She regarded him steadily, arms still crossed. “You put in your appearance, Mike. Why can’t we just go?”

“Why would I go with you? What would I do? Sit in your office and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for you to finish?”

“You could talk to my producer. Or even the network execs.”

“About what?” he demanded, thrown for a loop.

Rachel stared at him like he was an idiot. “You’re not going to play forever, Mike.”

“So?” he demanded, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and scanning the crowd through the massive windows to see if they’d attracted any attention. They hadn’t, but just before his gaze returned to Rachel, it caught on Baker and her date looking cozy at the bar, though maybe that was just the low, warm lighting inside. That hope was blown out of the water as he watched the tech geek lay his hand low on her hip, angling Ginny into him. Her head cocked to the side as he murmured in her ear, her long neck perfectly displayed.

“So,” she said, like her next words were so obvious, she couldn’t believe she had to spell it out for him, “I thought you might want to get a head start on phase two.”

Phase two. They’d talked a lot about it when they’d been married. What Mike would do when he finally hung up his cleats. 

But a lot had changed since he and Rachel had been married.

“Look, Rach,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his beard. “I know that you love what you do, but it’s just not for me.”

“And you’ve decided this after just one try?”

Mike shrugged. It wasn’t as if he’d been all that good as a talking head, anyway. Not that he was afraid of hard work—the amount of effort it took just to stay game ready was a testament to that. Just, he didn’t see much point in working so hard for something he didn’t love enough. 

Which was a hell of a thought to have, arguing with his wife even as the image of another woman swam through his brain.

“You told me you would pack it in, Mike,” she continued, mercifully unaware of that loose thought. “That you’d retire if I—”

“And when I offered, you told me you were gonna marry that guy,” he shot back. “Let’s not hold each other to what we said then.”

Her mouth pursed. “Does that mean you’re not thinking about retiring?”

“I’m always thinking about retiring,” he replied honestly enough. It was true. There weren’t many days where retirement was far from Mike’s mind. Mostly, though, it was viewed with a sense of faint horror and unending praise that his life had yet to come to _that_. 

“But not seriously,” she frowned because Rachel did still know him. Better than almost anyone else.

Mike stared back at her in wordless confirmation. 

“I thought it was going to be different this time, Mike,” she confessed, shoulders slumping. “But it won’t, will it?”

There were lots of things that he could have said in response, and while they all swirled through his mind, all that came out of his mouth was, “I guess not.”

Rachel’s eyes slid shut and stayed that way for a long moment. When she opened them, her jaw was set, but this time it wasn’t in anger. Mike tried to dredge up the same depth of feeling, but he was coming up dry. 

Much as he’d loved Rachel, there was part of him that’d always known that this second chance wasn’t going to lead anywhere good. Mostly because he hadn’t really been running to her, but from something else. 

“Don’t bother with the valet ticket. I’ll call for a car. And have your things set back down here,” she finally said, voice steady and head high. 

Mike nodded his acceptance. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t. We’ve both apologized to each other enough for one lifetime.” With one last wan smile, Rachel turned and left the balcony, leaving Mike alone. 

He just wished it wasn’t such a familiar feeling. 

 

* * *

  

Ginny lingered at the door of the balcony, the sight of Mike’s hunched, shadowy form leaning against the railing, beckoning her out. Still, her hand lay on the handle and she hadn’t yet convinced herself to push and cross that line. 

It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t seen Rachel leave the balcony alone and watched, hawk-eyed, for Mike to make an appearance, too. But time ticked on, closer and closer to midnight, and her captain didn’t return to the party. 

Over the course of the next few minutes and two drinks, Ginny drifted closer and closer to the wall of windows, hoping she’d be able to make out his form through the glass. Even though the party was dimly lit, it was even darker outside, leaving the balcony swathed in shadows. 

Which had led her to this, peering through the glass door at Mike, wondering if she should really intrude on his privacy. 

Her body made her decision for her, pushing open the door and slipping out into the quiet night. 

At the burst of sound, Mike startled, checking over his shoulder to see who’d come to drag him back inside and preparing a gruff, “Go away.” The sight of Ginny, though, unaccompanied and standing on the threshold, goosebumps breaking over her skin from the chill wind, had him feeling slightly more charitable. He liked to think that was just the effect Ginny had on him, but it was probably as much about the fact that her tall, dorky shadow wasn’t around.

“Where’d the computer geek go?” he asked, turning back out to the bay. 

“Is that what y'all are calling him?” she responded, leaning against the rail next to him, a slight frown on her face. 

Well, no. That was just what Mike called him because it was better than what the guys had come up with: “Ginny’s boyfriend.”

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but replied, “He went home.”

“And left you here?”

It was Ginny’s turn to shrug. “I told him to.”

She could feel Mike’s attention shift off the not-so distant waves to her face. A quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye wasn’t enough, so she turned to face him, too. His head was tilted in consideration and Ginny couldn’t help but want to smile at his unnecessarily adorable face. Especially when he started to grin.

“You kick him to the curb?”

Ginny huffed, crossing her arms and shaking her head at him. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing to better study Mike’s gloating face. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“No, but I saw Rachel march out of here like the place was on fire,” she challenged, brow raised.

Mike nodded, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek. “She had to go cover some story.” When Ginny continued to study him, he added, “And, apparently, pack up my stuff so she could ship it back here.”

That challenging look melted away, leaving her beautiful face so open, so full of feeling. For him.

“Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

He shook her off. “It’s fine. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

One of the things he loved most about Ginny—because Christ were there a lot of them—was the fact that she understood. Without being told or asking a thousand questions that all boiled down to the same thing, she understood. She nodded and frowned, but didn’t push him to say anything else because she didn’t need to. She just knew. 

Instead, they both turned back to the crashing water and the clear sky. 

The feather-light brush of Mike’s jacket against her arm as much as the dark, intimate atmosphere and cool breeze had Ginny breaking out in goosebumps anew. Next to her, Mike was such a solid, warm presence, and it took all of her willpower not to sway into him, laying her head against his shoulder. 

His wife had just left him. Again. There had to be better times to confront this _thing_  between them. 

But Ginny couldn’t bring herself to do it. Wait. She couldn’t bring herself to play this cautiously. Not when she didn’t know what this next year would bring.

“You know,” she said, biting her lip before deciding to hell with it all. “They say what you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s sets the tone for the rest of the year.”

“So you’re gonna be shivering in the dark a lot?” he snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds real—”

“With you.”

Mike didn’t tease her the way he usually did when she interrupted him. His jaw hung slack, but no sounds came out of his mouth. 

Ginny shifted nervously. 

“Maybe I will be in the dark, ‘cause God knows I have no clue what’ll happen with my arm or my contract or—” she cut herself off, though she was pretty sure the way her cheeks heated up and she couldn’t quite look Mike in the eye filled in most of the blanks. Still, she swallowed and began again, “And I don’t know what you mean by shivering because it’s not even that cold, but none of that will matter. Because hopefully, I’ll have you. Exactly where you are right now.”

When she finally brought herself to look up at Mike, after a long silence, he was staring back, jaw still a little slack. That, even more than the silence, had her heart beating double time. 

“Ginny,” he murmured, his hand coming out to guide her to face him head on. He didn’t let go of her when she did, fingers skating up and down her arm. “What happened to not talking about this?”

“How happy did not talking make us?”

Mike knew she meant this, their feelings, when she said that, but the thought of not talking to her at all made him physically ache. He nodded his agreement, swallowing down the swell of emotions. 

“You think I can make you happy?”

Slowly, Ginny nodded. “I’m sure you can.”

The look that came over Mike’s face was indescribable. Ginny had seen him smile and grin and laugh, but this was somehow even better. Maybe because it was all for her, without any kind of audience. It wasn’t often they were like this. The last time, they’d nearly kissed.

Mike licked his lips and Ginny was sure that there would be no _nearly_  about tonight. 

She swayed into him, chin tilting up just enough that when Mike leaned in, too, their mouths slotted together perfectly. 

Ginny sighed against him, her arms looping easily around his neck as she closed the distance. Mike groaned in response, his broad forearms banding across her back and lifting, just enough that he didn’t have to bend so much to keep kissing her. 

They lost track of time in the push and pull of lips, a quieter echo of the ocean breaking against the beach beyond. 

It wasn’t until fireworks overhead burst their dark, private bubble, signaling an end to their privacy and an end to the year, that they pulled away. Through the glass, raucous cheers filtered into the night as Padres celebrated the arrival of midnight. In no time, the balcony would be flooded with their teammates and bosses, but neither Ginny nor Mike could bring themselves to pull away completely, trading soft, easy caresses until they’d gotten their fill. 

For now. Each was sure they’d never get enough of kissing the other. 

It was Mike who murmured, “We’ll figure it out,” as silver sparks rained across the sky. His thumb swept just below her ear, making Ginny sigh.

“We will,” she promised, her nose nudging against Mike’s. The apples of his cheeks rounded as he smiled, Ginny so close she could feel them.  

By the time the balcony door opened and their tipsy teammates joined them to watch the rest of the fireworks, Mike and Ginny were back to standing side by side at the rail. Maybe they were a bit closer than anyone else would stand, but no one questioned it. That was just Lawson and Baker. 

Still, the two couldn’t keep from trading secret smiles, every brush against one another a reminder of how they’d begun the new year and how they intended to spend it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about this way too long. But I really liked the idea of Mike and Ginny going back and forth, catching glances of the other with their date and thinking they looked so happy, only to switch and see what was really going on. Which made the last chunk hard because it couldn't really follow that pattern. 
> 
> Thanks crimson_kiss17 for your patience!! Hopefully it isn't too weird to read a NYE fic in May? It seemed appropriate when I got the prompt...
> 
> I'd love to hear what everyone's thoughts! Drop me a line here or on [tumblr](http://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask) if you like!


	37. baseball is pretty good too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Ginny having a bad day, mike bringing food to her hotel room, they fall asleep together & wake up cuddling (smut if you want)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: wallowing, hurt/comfort, Post season 1, no smut
> 
> chapter title: Yogi Berra quote, "Love is the most important thing in the world, but _baseball is pretty good too_."

Ginny’d been so excited to start training again. The ten weeks between her collapse on the field and her first time back on the mound was the longest she’d gone without picking up a ball since the accident. 

Then, she couldn’t force herself to confront the game. Now, she wasn’t allowed to.

She’d practically skipped into her first bullpen session. Her physical therapist had been a little leery of starting a throwing regimen so quickly, but Ginny’d finally hounded him into agreeing. So what if a few of the exercises still gave her a little trouble? They were mostly for conditioning, rebuilding strength. What better way to condition than put her arm through the motions?

Because, really. If Ginny had to go one more day without getting on the mound, she was pretty sure she was going to scream or cry or both.

Which, funnily enough, was exactly what she wanted to do upon waking the morning after that work out. 

Ginny rolled onto her side, clutching her arm to her chest as she tried to breathe through the pain.

Mercifully, it wasn’t as bad as it had been back in September, so she didn’t think she’d re-injured herself yesterday. At least, not in the same way.

To be fair, both her physical therapist and the pitching coach had warned her that she’d probably be sore when she woke up, but she hadn’t really believed them. It wasn’t like they did much of anything she hadn’t done a million times before, and only at half effort, too. But apparently, her six week rest followed by a scant month of strength training had made her soft. 

Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she hurt so much after a work out, grimacing as she straightened her elbow and the muscles surrounding the joint protested. Sharply. She stopped, but couldn’t clamp down on the tears of frustration that rolled down her cheek. Sniffing, she willed herself to stop, curling up tighter under the blankets. This was an unpleasant reminder that getting back into shape wouldn’t be the same as maintaining her strength, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Still, the thought of dragging herself out of bed to do more than pop one of the painkillers she’d tried not to rely on or maybe get a heating pad to relax away the lingering soreness was overwhelming.

After doing both of those things, Ginny sent Evelyn a quick text to cancel their lunch plans. She didn’t even bother waiting for a response, just turned the phone off and cocooned herself in the luxurious bedding and tried to will herself back to sleep.

She must have succeeded because the next thing Ginny knew, she was startling awake. Blearily, she tried to identify what had woken her, but the suite was quiet.

Well, until a flurry of knocks sounded at the door.

Ginny did consider ignoring it until it went away. If it was the hotel, they’d call her room if necessary. Otherwise, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to see anyone.

Or, more accurately, anyone to see her. Not like this.

Apparently, though, she would not get a say in this because a voice began to accompany the incessant knocking.

“Open up, rookie! I know you’re in there!”

Ginny jackknifed upright at the sound of her captain’s voice, an unorganized rush of emotions and thoughts and half-remembered dreams spinning through her brain. Without quite thinking about it, her feet were on the ground, padding towards the door. All the while, Mike kept hammering away, nearly shouting through the solid wood. With her luck, security was already on its way up. 

In seconds, she’d yanked the door open, cutting Mike’s knocking off mid rap.

His words trailed off less abruptly.

“Do you know how many times Evelyn’s called me in the past three hours? Nine times! I don’t think I’ve talked to her on the phone nine times before…”

The barrage of words died as Mike’s eyes trailed over Ginny, at first to check her over for life-threatening injury as Evelyn apparently feared, but then to take in Ginny’s choice in sleepwear.

After getting back last night, it had been all Ginny could do to shower and brush her teeth before collapsing into bed, let alone put on appropriate pajamas. She guessed she could consider herself lucky that she’d put clothes on at all—she’d been too concerned with keeping hotel security from being called to consider what she was wearing before racing to the door—not that the tight running shorts and loose tank top she had on were much better.

Ginny fidgeted a little and his gaze snapped immediately back to her face, guilty. He covered that up quickly with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You gonna let me in after I came all this way to make sure you weren’t dying?”

She didn’t budge, regarding him suspiciously. “Obviously I’m not dying. Do you really need to come in?”

“What kind of hospitality is that?” he scoffed.

“I’m not the one who invited you over,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and wincing at the pull in her elbow.

It was too much to hope that Mike hadn’t seen it, but Ginny wasn’t ready to see the concern on his face or answer any questions, so she directed her gaze to her feet.

“Maybe not, but I did bring you food,” he finally replied.

That piqued her interest. Shyly, she peeked up at him. “What kind?”

Mike rolled his eyes and Ginny felt a rush of fondness for him sweep through her, nearly dissipating the embarrassment.

“Thai from that place you like. The one—”

“In El Cajon?”

“That’s the one,” he agreed with a huff. Probably for the way she hadn’t let him finish on his own. “Now, are you going to let me and this feast inside, or do I have to tell Evelyn you’re refusing visitors?”

The food would have been more than enough reason to let him in, especially since Ginny had gotten pretty sick of the offerings on the Omni room service menu. But the added threat of Evelyn, whom she loved dearly, barging her way into the suite and demanding answers sealed the deal.

“Fine,” she allowed, stepping aside.

As Mike passed by, the smell of the food hit Ginny’s nose and went straight to her stomach. It rumbled. Loud.

Her captain laughed, looking back over his shoulder at her as he set the bag down on the coffee table. “Haven’t you eaten yet today? It’s nearly noon.”

Her stomach growled again at the reminder. Futilely pressing her hands into the grumbling beast, she replied, “I was asleep.” 

“It’s nearly noon,” Mike repeated, clearly incredulous. Which, Ginny supposed, was fair. It wasn’t often that she even slept past seven. 

“I had a hard workout yesterday,” she muttered, taking a seat on the couch and inspecting the spread. Pad thai, egg rolls, pineapple fried rice, and red curry was quite the offering. Mike had definitely come prepared. “You made sure they didn’t—”

“Put in any cilantro, I know. Don’t need to hear _that_ spiel again,” he finished, collapsing onto the couch next to her. Of course, he couldn’t just tease her about her cilantro aversion, though. “I’ve seen you hit a lot of hard workouts, but none that made you turn into a hermit, Baker.”

For a moment, Ginny didn’t respond, piling a paper plate that’d come with the food high and digging in. When Mike’s attention didn’t waver from her and her stomach’s complaints finally receded, she sighed. 

“I had my first bullpen session yesterday,” she admitted, immediately busying herself with fishing chunks of pineapple out of the carton of fried rice. 

“So soon?”

Ginny shrugged, not meeting his eye. 

When he continued, she could practically hear the suspicious squint. “You know I can just get the goods from Kiki or Buck, right?”

“They weren’t there.” 

Mike scoffed. “If you think the athletic trainers and support staff don’t gossip like a bunch of old hens, you haven’t been paying enough attention around the clubhouse.”

Ginny weighed the pros and cons of telling Mike herself versus letting him glean potentially inaccurate information from someone else. Finally, she decided to bite the bullet. 

“I bugged my PT guy into letting me in the bullpen a few weeks early,” she admitted, staring down at her plate. 

Mike hummed in thought before confessing, “After my first knee surgery, I tried to cut the recovery time in half.”

“What?” she exclaimed, whirling on him, self-pity out the window. “That’s fucking stupid, Mike.”

He winced. “No one ever taught you to pull your punches, huh?”

“Not when you don’t deserve it! You know what kind of damage you could have done? You’re lucky you can still play.”

“Hey, rookie,” he protested, smirking a little. “I said I _tried_  cutting it down, not that I was all that successful.”

She snorted. “What happened?”

“Knocked myself on my ass trying to skip too many steps on the road to recovery,” he replied with an easy shrug before his eyes cut over to her. “Kinda like you did, it sounds like.”

Ginny’s shoulders hunched at the—accurate—assessment, but there wasn’t any judgement in Mike’s tone. Not that that made her feel much better. She’d done plenty of judging on her own. Still, she had it in her to admit when she’d made a mistake. 

“I maybe overdid it.”

Mike’s hooting laughter had Ginny’s jaw dropping in affront. 

“You _maybe_  overdid it?” he howled, head tipping back to thunk against the wall. Ginny just crossed her arms over her chest, pouting, but waiting him out. Her elbow throbbed at the angle, but she didn’t really care. “Baker, anyone with eyes can see that your arm is killing you. You haven’t tried to slug me once today, and I’m sure you’ve thought about it at least twice.” 

Ginny just pouted. It’d been four times if she counted the incessant knocking before she realized it was him. 

“You’re gonna get there, Baker. You won’t let yourself back down,” he said, sounding so completely sure of his words, Ginny had to swallow down the lump in her throat. She dared a glance at him, but for once, he was the one looking away. “And if, for some reason, you forget that, I’ll make sure to remind you.”

She sniffed. Not in an effort to hold back anything. Like tears. Just because she want to sniff. 

“We don’t all suffer from memory loss due to advanced age, Lawson.” 

Mike shook his head and rolled his eyes, but Ginny could see the smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. In retaliation, he snagged an egg roll off her plate and settled into the couch. 

“So what’s next on the Ginny Baker Mope-A-Thon?” he asked around a full mouth. Ignoring Ginny’s cringe and her good elbow digging into his arm, Mike continued, “You’ve ignored your calls and played hermit. I brought you food. You gonna go run a cool 15k? Get on the bike and do the hill setting, just for kicks?”

Ordinarily, that was exactly what she’d do: work her body hard enough that she didn’t have the energy to overthink anything. But the prospect of leaving her room and having to turn on that in-quotes Ginny Baker, even just for whoever happened to be in the hotel gym right now, sounded truly awful. 

“I was actually planning on not getting out of bed, but you showing up sank that plan,” she replied, turning so she could lean against the arm of the couch. If it made it easier to watch Mike, too, then that was just a nice little side benefit. Especially when Mike mirrored her, pulling one thick thigh up onto the cushion and crossing his bare, beefy arms over his chest. God bless rolled up shirt sleeves. He looked too hot for his own good, frowning faintly at her. For her own good. So, she continued, “Now, I’m thinking I don’t get off this couch for the next few hours, catch up on all the TV I’ve missed.”

Mike whistled low. “Tall order. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you watch something that’s not on ESPN or FS1. ” 

Ginny ignored him, snagging the remote from the coffee table and turning on the TV to display her neglected Netflix profile. 

After a few hours, making their way through old episodes of Parks and Recreation, Mike throwing Ginny amused glances as she cackled at all the bits she didn’t remember or maybe hadn’t even seen, they’d migrated out of their corners, closer together. Well, Ginny’d migrated out of her corner and Mike hadn’t said anything about it. He simply lifted his arm and let her mold herself into his side. When she was comfortable, he dropped it around her shoulders, his big hand falling to gently cup her elbow, which was still sore. The heat from his fingers, or maybe it was just the heat her body was putting off being so close to him, helped relax the muscle. The pain finally beginning to ebb, Ginny allowed herself to relax, too. 

Maybe a little too much. 

Ginny lost track of how many episodes they’d watched, but by the time she thought about it, she found that she’d made herself completely comfortable. Practically on top of Mike. Her head was cushioned on his thigh, hand curled almost possessively over his knee. She’d be more embarrassed for the unconscious way she’d claimed his lap, but Mike didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hand skated in broad, lazy circles on her back. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt so… at peace. And on the same day she’d woken up and felt like everything was more than a little pointless.

She tilted her head back just enough to eye him suspiciously. “How are you so good at this?”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant, though Ginny wasn’t quite sure she knew, herself. With a quirk of his lips, which from this angle somehow looked even softer, he replied, “I _was_ married.”

“And divorced.”

“Nice,” he sneered with enough heat to make her feel bad.

“I can’t imagine anyone leaving you,” she admitted after refocusing her attention on the TV, quiet enough that maybe he hadn’t heard.

He did

“Well, that makes one of us.”

Instinctively, her fingers curled tighter around his leg and her head shifted, not quite a nuzzle, on his thigh. The hand rubbing circles on her back stuttered for a breath before resuming its lazy, easy path. After a few strokes, it came to a stop in the dip of her waist, fingers curling over the bottom of her ribs. 

Ginny was glad she was facing the TV. Mostly so she wouldn’t miss Ron wiping out on the grass. 

But also so Mike wouldn’t see the goofy grin spread across her face. 

Above her, though, a similar smile made itself at home on Mike’s face. 

They remained twined together on the couch all through the afternoon and into the evening. They finished what was left of the Thai food rather than make themselves get up for more. If they got up, then there was no way they could make it back to the same position without admitting they’d done it on purpose. Neither was quite ready for that.

Soon, sleepy and full and safe, Ginny’s heavy eyelids drifted shut and she lost the battle for consciousness. 

When she woke, her suite was dark and she was laying flat on the couch cushions. Dimly, she could make out Mike’s form crouching in front of her. 

Though she couldn’t see his smile, she could hear it when he said, “Come on, rook. Don’t know if my knees can manage getting you into your room on their own.”

Sleepily, she nodded, pushing herself upright with a yawn and a stretch. When she was on her feet, she held her hand out to Mike. In the long moment it took for him to slide his hand into hers, Ginny’s eyes adjusted to the dark. The look on his face nearly knocked the breath out of her chest. 

It really went when he stood to his full height, close enough that their chests nearly brushed against each other. His free hand came up, brushing a stray curl away from her face. 

Was this really going to happen? 

“I should probably go,” he murmured, and Ginny’s heart dropped. 

“Oh. Um, yeah,” she replied, pulling away. 

In spite of his words, Mike’s fingers tightened around hers.

They stood for a breath, Ginny staring down at their clasped hands before daring to look him in the face. When she did, though, there was none of the condescending sympathy she feared.

“What do you need, Ginny?” he rumbled, his own voice a little heavy. Had he fallen asleep, too, or just let her pass out in his lap for hours? His eyes darted down to her mouth and her heart began to thunder again. His broad thumb stroked over the back of her knuckles. “Say the word and it’s yours.”

“Just you,” she breathed. “I just want you.”

His smile, when it came, bloomed so beautifully on that bearded face she’d come to love. Ginny couldn’t help but smile back, relieved and thrilled for all Mike hadn’t yet said anything. 

“Then I’m all yours.”

They were still smiling when Ginny closed the short distance, kissing Mike for all she was worth. 

She would’ve kept kissing him if it weren’t for the jaw-cracking yawn that tore through her, in spite of the fact that she’d already spent much of the day sleeping. 

Mike pulled away, chuckling, “Let’s get you into bed, all right?”

The utter fondness in his voice and the way his arms tightened around her kept Ginny from being too annoyed. When he started dancing her backwards, towards the bedroom, she had to laugh, too. Mike grinned, twirling her under his arm for show. When she spun back towards him, Ginny went up onto her tiptoes to steal one last kiss before she collapsed into bed. 

She didn’t give up her grip on Mike’s hand as she burrowed into the covers. In fact, she tugged, urging him down onto the mattress with her. He gave in easily enough, having lost his shoes much earlier. Grudgingly, Ginny let go of him, just long enough that he could shuck off his jeans and flannel shirt. 

When he finally lay down beside her, she wasted no time in curling into his side. His warm solidity filled her with heated expectation. Expectation that she would have done something about if another yawn didn’t burst out of her mouth. 

Mike chuckled again and Ginny thumped him on the chest. 

“It’s not funny,” she mumbled, her eyelids already drooping as she basked in the coziness of her bed with Mike Lawson in it. 

“It’s a little funny,” was his response, as slow and sleepy as she felt. 

Any argument she could have made faded as Ginny gave herself over to the sweet pull of sleep.

Sure, she didn’t know what would happen with her recovery or if she’d make it back onto the Padres roster by the time Spring Training ended, but that seemed a little less daunting now. Now that she had Mike on and by her side. 

And for now, that was more than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I like this one as is. Unless inspiration strikes, I don't think I'll do a follow up. I think it could kind of exist in its own, fragile little bubble. It's not that I don't like doing follow ups, but this is just one where I don't see an easy way back in, you know? 
> 
> But, if you can give me a good/interesting/fun reason, I'd definitely consider it. Let me know your thoughts! Here or on tumblr, where I'm megaphonemonday :)


	38. easy as 1, 2, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mindykahling: can I please get a fic of Ginny where she's Mike's daughter's kindergarten teacher?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: teacher!Ginny, Single dad!Mike, fluff, 
> 
> Chapter title: "ABC" by the Jackson 5

“Daddy, look!”

Obediently, Mike stopped, one of Maddie’s little hands still curled in his. The other pointed up, towards a wall of artwork. (Well, calling it “art” was maybe generous, but the kids were five and six. He could cut them a little slack.) He tried to follow the line of her tiny finger, but wasn’t sure what she wanted him to see. 

“What am I looking at, Mads?” he asked with a frown. 

Impatiently, she raised her arms, the imperious “Up!” left unsaid. 

With a groan—his girl was getting too big or his knees were aging too fast for this—Mike hauled her up onto his hip so she could point with more accuracy. Apparently, though, now that she had a better vantage, pointing wasn’t enough. Instead, she curled her fingers into his beard and tugged, like it was a set of reins and he was her noble steed. 

He really needed to stop letting the guys give her “horsey rides” if this was what he got out of it.

“Ow! Mads, gentle,” he reminded her, still moving to the right. The way she’d wanted. Geez, that was effective. 

Satisfied he was doing as she wanted, and—unfortunately—probably not because it was the right thing to do, she released her grip on him. She reached out and smacked her hand against one of the pictures. Immediately, his eyes zeroed in on the familiar, slightly shaky, handwriting of his daughter in the bottom corner. In painstaking printing, she’d spelled out “Madeline Lawson,” each letter a different color.

Honestly, how he’d missed it before was beyond him. 

“It’s our family!” she announced brightly, not that Mike really needed the update. 

Right in the middle, shorter than everyone else, was Maddie. He could tell it was Maddie because she’d lovingly drawn herself in her favorite outfit, bright yellow overalls. Mike sometimes had dreams about those overalls. Or maybe they were nightmares. Either way, there were four contingency pairs hidden in his closet. When it became clear how much she loved them—having refused to take them off for five days straight—Mike went right out and bought an emergency stash. And a good thing, too. There had been five contingency pairs, but after he accidentally bleached the originals, they’d moved onto pair number two. 

Beside her, much taller, that had to be him. At five, Maddie hadn’t yet learned artistic subtlety, so he was marked by both his beard, far bushier than he ever let it grow, and a baseball hat. 

Some of the other figures, though, required a bit more effort to decipher. It didn’t help that Maddie’s understanding of family wasn’t quite... traditional.

Off to the side, with a gut and mop of gray hair, that had to be Skip—Grandpa Al as his daughter had learned to call his longtime manager. Blip and Evelyn, along with Gabe and Marcus, were also included in Maddie’s vision of their family. Even Jedi, standing next to Maddie, though Mike doubted the little girl remembered the dog who’d died when she was three, was represented.

As conspicuous as the odd additions to their family tree was the glaring absence. There was no Rachel, which made Mike’s heart pang, just a little for his little girl growing up without a mom. But looking down at how proud his daughter was of her drawing, and how happy she’d made everyone in it look, he told himself again that Maddie couldn’t miss what she didn’t remember. 

That only left one thing unexplained.

“Who’s this?” Mike asked, tapping the remaining woman in the picture. Well, he thought it was a woman. She was wearing a dress and had long hair. Then again, Maddie’d seen what the team made rookies wear during September hazing, so it was best to check. 

“That’s Miss Baker,” Maddie replied, as if it required no further explanation. 

Mike stared at the curly-haired figure. He had yet to meet Maddie’s new teacher. It was why they were here, in fact. When her original kindergarten teacher went on maternity leave early in the school year, Miss Baker had been hired to replace her. He knew that Maddie loved the woman, had come home with stars in her eyes the first day with her and breathed, “Daddy, she’s the _best.”_ But between post season press obligations and trying to make sure there would be more than enough money to send his daughter to college, he hadn’t gotten a chance to meet the new teacher. 

Which was really the only reason he’d signed up for a parent-teacher conference. It was kindergarten for Christ’s sake. What could there be to conference about? And barely six weeks into the year?

“Sweetheart, you know that Miss Baker’s not part of our family, right?”

Maddie shrugged in his arms, clearly having lost interest in the conversation, and looked down the hall towards her classroom. 

Mike chuckled and dropped the subject. Miss Baker was surely waiting. 

The closer they got, the more Maddie began to wriggle, nearly bouncing in his arms. She really was excited to be see her teacher. When he’d told her she didn’t have school today, she’d pouted for nearly an hour until Mike finally caved and told her about the conference. He wasn’t actually sure if he was supposed to bring Maddie along, though he was positive he’d never gone to a conference with his mom. Not unless the principal called her in and he was already waiting in the office. 

But who was he to tell his baby girl that she couldn’t go to school if she wanted?

God, where did she get it from? Certainly not Mike, who’d only graduated because he couldn’t play ball if he didn’t.

He set Maddie down and watched as she dashed ahead into her classroom. He rounded the corner just in time to see her run to her teacher, who crouched down to greet the girl with a high five. She listened as Maddie prattled on and on, her focus not once wavering from her student. It wasn’t until his daughter pointed back towards him that she stood, looking towards the door.

For a moment, everything slowed. Her curly hair, tossed casually over her shoulder, seemed to float, unaffected by gravity. Sparkling brown eyes met his own and Mike would swear that his heart flipped in his chest.

Miss Baker blinked, shaking herself a little, before smiling warmly—had he ever been so affected by dimples before?—and extending her hand.

Mike blinked back, reaching out to shake automatically.

“Mr. Lawson? Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ginny Baker.”

(Preposterously, the first thing to cross his mind was Maddie’s picture out in the hallway. Not even two minutes ago, he’d thought it was weird for his kid to include a woman she’d only known a matter of weeks in her family portrait. 

Now, he was beginning to think Maddie’d been onto something.) 

 

* * *

  

If, after finally meeting the illustrious Miss Baker, Mike made a point of being a more visibly hands on parent, especially around school, he told himself he was just taking advantage of the off season to hang out more with his kid, which hadn’t been much of an issue when she was in pre-K. She was growing up so fast, he could hardly stand it.

And it wasn’t even a lie. He hadn’t actually realized there were so many volunteer jobs in Maddie’s classroom. Things had definitely changed since he was in school. 

Which didn’t make him feel old. At all.  

What did get to him was being surrounded by a bunch of kindergartners and their energetic 24-year-old leader. How she managed to keep up with the twenty-odd hell-raisers was a mystery, especially when his one morning a week left him nearly as drained as catching nine innings.

It helped that it was the most fun he’d had in a long time, though. 

Maybe he would’ve liked school more if his teachers had looked like Miss Baker, or Ginny as she’d insisted when he showed up for the second time this week. He’d immediately reciprocated, because while he usually got a kick out of people calling him Mr. Lawson, from Ginny it just made him feel even more like a dad. 

The way she’d grinned and nodded, testing out his name, well, that had definitely been a different kind of kick.

A kick that he had to ignore for the benefit of the small children around him. 

Children that had just headed off to lunch.

“Bye, daddy!” his little girl called down the hallway, waving madly. “Bye, Miss Baker!”

Ginny and Mike stood at the door to her classroom, waving until the line of kindergartners disappeared around the hall. Once they were out of sight, Ginny sighed, slumping against the doorframe. 

So she _wasn’t_ a boundless well of energy. 

The thought was oddly comforting. 

“Long day at the office?” he joked weakly, a little too distracted by the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her cheekbones. 

She snorted anyway, tossing him a grin as she turned back into the room, heading towards her desk.

Mike followed along, feeling more flustered around a pretty girl than he’d been in a long time. A pretty girl who happened to be his young daughter’s teacher. 

Pulling himself out of that train of thought, he cast his attention elsewhere. Specifically, the little Padres pennant poking out of her pencil cup. 

He flicked it with a finger, watching it flutter. “You a fan?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly, looking up at him through her lashes as she straightened her desk. “I actually didn’t realize that _you_ were Maddie’s dad until you walked in for her conference.”

He grinned at that. “What, you don’t memorize all your students’ family trees?”

“Ah, I knew I’d forgotten something when I took over!” 

Mike laughed, not because it was a particularly good joke, but because he liked the way it sounded when their chuckles blended together. 

“I mean,” she continued, “she told me you played baseball, but I kind of figured she meant in a summer league or something? It’s funny what kids fixate on about their parents. Like Jack M? He told me his mom’s job was playing with water guns.”

“And what does she actually do?”

“She’s a firefighter.” 

Mike chuckled appreciatively. “That’s not surprising. It took a long time to explain to Maddie that my job was just playing a game.”

Ginny smiled and nodded, a little rueful. “I get that. My dad actually used to play. In the minors. He retired before I was ever born, but I always told people that he was a baseball player.”

“Oh, what was his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

She shot him a look that said she knew he was just being polite, and her lips quirked. “I doubt it. I’m sure he was before even your time.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a disbelieving laugh bursting from his chest. Miss Baker’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said and she clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”

He just chuckled, waving her off. “It’s all right. I _am_ the oldest guy on the team now that Hunter retired.” He waited until she gave him a tentative smile back to look away. His gaze landed on the clock. With a start, he rapped his knuckles on her desk. “I should get outta your hair. Let you enjoy your peace and quiet while you have it.”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, still looking a little shy, though Mike was sure that was just left over embarrassment. Just like he was sure she was just being polite when she said she didn’t mind him hanging out.

It probably was safest to believe that. No, it _definitely_  was safest to believe that.

“You say that now, but I can’t have you getting too sick of me. I’m signed up to be the Classroom Helper every Tuesday for the rest of the semester. Imagine how awkward it’ll be in December if you get sick of me now.”

The amusement on Ginny’s face was well worth losing a few of his cool points. They grinned at each other for a long moment, only breaking eye contact when she blinked and looked down. 

When she peeked up again, though, she said, “Well, I guess I’ll have to look forward to next Tuesday, then.”

When he finally left the school, he had a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. 

  

* * *

  

Mike, of course, because he didn’t do well with taking it easy or playing it cool, didn’t limit himself to his Tuesday morning duties as Classroom Helper. When Miss Baker’s class went on a field trip to a children’s music concert, he signed up as a chaperone. When the call went out for extra volunteers to help out with the kindergarten Halloween Party, Mike responded almost immediately. When the weekly story time volunteer had to cancel, Mike stepped in, and even consulted Ginny on kindergarten-appropriate reading material. (She laughed when he brought up “Casey at the Bat,” but suggested something with a happier ending.

Her laugh, as always, stayed with him for days.)

Which was why he finally admitted that, okay, he had a thing for Maddie’s teacher. 

Not that he was going to do anything about it. Because aside from the age difference—she’d graduated from NC State two years ago and Mike could barely remember what high school had been like outside of the baseball team—and the fact that she was really and truly out of his league, Ginny Baker was his daughter’s teacher. There had to be some kind of rule or code against teachers dating parents. 

He knew it. He accepted it, even. 

But it didn’t keep him from sticking his nose where it probably didn’t belong. 

Case in point: he invited her to Thanksgiving. 

When he swung by the school to drop off Maddie’s forgotten lunchbox, he definitely hadn’t intended to invite the woman that he was harboring a monster crush on to Thanksgiving dinner, but it wasn’t as if he’d intended to develop that crush in the first place, either. Some things just happened.

The class was out at morning recess, so he didn’t bother going to the classroom. Instead, he made his way to the fenced in playground, sure that Ginny would be supervising her group of hellions there. When he arrived, though, the place was a ghost town. 

Frowning, he circled, searching for the missing class, when the shrill shriek of little voices reached his ears. 

He followed the sound to the flat expanse of grass around the back corner of the school, and was confronted by a tiny, makeshift baseball diamond swarming with small children. At the epicenter, a lightning rod compared to the munchkins surrounding her, was Ginny holding a big, red ball. 

So, not baseball, then. Kickball. 

When she caught sight of him, she smiled and waved, handing the ball off to the shy little boy next to her. She pointed and mimed rolling the ball to the next kicker in line before jogging up to Mike. 

“Your daughter is kicking butts and taking names today,” she said in lieu of a real greeting. 

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, finding Maddie out on second base, a determined glint in her eye.

For a moment, they stood watching the game, which seemed to go fairly smoothly even without a teacher’s guiding hand. Satisfied that all wouldn’t descend into chaos, Ginny returned her attention to Mike. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyeing him. “Did I miss that you were volunteering today?”

Mike held up Maddie’s sparkly purple lunchbox. “Nope. Just making sure my kid won’t starve.”

“You know they’ll give her lunch if they find out she forgot it.”

“I do,” he replied easily, “but I also know she probably won’t eat it. How I ended up with the pickiest eater on the planet is beyond me.”

Ginny laughed. “I’m sure there are worse. The other kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wallis, told me she once had a boy who only ate dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. And when she got his sister the next year…” she trailed off, biting her lip and clearly trying to hold in laughter.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Baker. What was it?”

“Spongebob mac and cheese.”

Mike chuckled at the absurdity of those poor parents stocking up on Kraft mac and cheese and chicken nuggets. “Maddie would love if I only made her chicken nuggets and mac and cheese,” he admitted. “But she is pretty excited for Thanksgiving. It’s the one meal she doesn’t ask questions.”

Ginny hummed in response and refocused her attention on the kids. One of them had taken a spill and she was waiting to see if she needed help or would get up on their own. When the girl pushed to her feet again, she turned back to Mike. 

“So you don’t try and slip weird stuff by her then? My mom used to do that. Tell my brother and I that tuna fish casserole was traditional to get us to eat it.”

“No, but I might have to try it if her hatred of green beans goes any further.”

She shook her head ruefully before turning back to watch the game. 

Mike did his best not to fidget at her side. 

God, had he ever felt this awkward with a woman he’d been interested in? Probably not, if only because he could count on hand the number of women he’d been as interested in as Ginny and none of them were off limits. 

“So,” he began, unsure of where to go. “Are you excited to go home for Thanksgiving?”

That was safe enough, right? It was this week, after all, with a shortened school week to celebrate; just Monday and Tuesday for both Ginny and the kids, and the rest off for an extra long weekend. 

“Oh, I’m not.”

“Excited or going home?”

She frowned a little. “Both I guess? I couldn’t quite justify the ticket home when I also need to pay rent, so there’s not much to be excited for. It’ll probably be me, a pizza, and the Macy’s Parade.” Ginny’s drawl was good-humored, but it still unsettled something in Mike. 

He remembered always being jealous of classmates who got to go to big Thanksgiving celebrations with all their cousins and grandparents, not to mention their moms _and_  dads. While he’d never gotten that, and couldn’t really give it to Maddie, either, he sure as hell would share what he did have.

“Seriously? That sounds terrible.” he snorted, earning an indignant scoff from Ginny. “If that’s all you plan on doing, you should come to our Thanksgiving.”

“Yours and Maddie’s?” she replied, her tone hard to read.

Which gave Mike pause. What had he just done? “Well, yeah, but a few other people, too. It’s honestly a pretty motley crew that shows up, but I don’t have a lot of family and I’d hate if Maddie grew up without—”

“I understand,” she said, cutting him off with a hand to his arm. When had he started gesturing so wildly? He let her guide his arm back to his side, trying not to start babbling again. Luckily Ginny continued, “I’d love to come. Let me know what I can bring.” 

 

* * *

 

Come Thursday afternoon, Mike wouldn’t say he was frazzled, per se, but between trying to keep Maddie, Gabe, and Marcus—not to mention Robles, Duarte, and Voorhies—entertained, shooing Al away from the already seasoned turkey (”Not everything needs more garlic, Skip!”), and squabbling with Evelyn over the finer points of entertaining, he probably wasn’t quite at his best when he opened the door to Ginny. 

But the way her eyes trailed up from his bare feet to the novelty apron he suddenly wished he’d burned to the bit of flour stuck to his cheek was probably worth whatever craziness he’d been put through. Especially when she reached up, unthinking, to brush the powder away. When she realized what she’d done, her eyes went wide and a little embarrassed. 

 _What did she have to be embarrassed about?_ was all he could think, trying to rein in the goofy grin that wanted to break over his face.

“Hi,” he greeted, a little breathier than was appropriate, even with the face touching. He cleared his throat, frowning. “Come on in.”

She stepped inside, smiling shyly. Dressed more casually than he was used to, Ginny still managed to make athletic leggings look like the height of fashion, though maybe that was just the way they put her long, lean legs on display. He was glad she’d taken him at his word about how casual this affair was. Livan was wearing some Ed Hardy knock off, for God’s sake.

Toeing off her sneakers, she said, “I know you said not to bring anything, but I was informed that it’s rude to show up without some kind of gift, so here’s wine and sparkling cider for the kids.” Then, sheepishly, she admitted, “I don’t actually know anything about wine, but I do remember liking the cider when I was growing up.”

He took both bottles off her, ushering her towards the living room where most everyone else was gathered. “Thanks, Ginny.” He didn’t know why, but her name felt more significant in his mouth here. In his house. Mike shook off the errant thought and continued, “You’ve already put the guys to shame. They just showed up and asked, ‘When do we eat?’”

“The guys?”

They turned the last corner and Ginny froze at the sight of three San Diego Padres lounging on Mike’s sectional like they owned the thing. It wasn’t just their presence that made her stop in her tracks, though. 

No, that was probably down to the fact that Maddie had used each one as her own personal mannequin and none of them had the heart (or brains) to say no. 

Voorhies was decked out with a hot pink boa and a pair of Hello Kitty sun glasses, Livan had escaped with just the bright blue wig from Maddie’s Halloween costume fitted on his gigantic head, but it was poor Omar who’d suffered the most. Perched atop his head and shedding more glitter than Mike had believed possible was the tiara he was sure he’d hidden last year. Of course Maddie’d managed to find it and save it for a special occasion. That wasn’t all, though. No, his daughter had managed to immobilize the man by trying to pull her tutu up his legs, and failing that, stripped him of his socks so she could paint his toenails. 

If Omar looked pained before, the sudden appearance of his captain and a pretty girl probably made him want to die. Especially when said pretty girl’s shoulders started shaking, the hand over her mouth failing to hide her amusement.

Because Mike wasn’t a perfect person, he fished out his phone and snapped a picture of all three men and their stylist, beaming with pride. His girl was going places.

That done, he turned his attention back to his daughter.

“Mads, did you ask Omar if you could do that?”

“Uh huh,” she responded, not bothering to look up from her work.

“You know you didn’t have to let her, right?” he asked, this time focusing on his utility infielder.

“Uhh.”

Whether Omar’s indecision came from not actually knowing he was allowed to tell Maddie “no” or from Ginny’s presence and continued amusement, Mike couldn’t say. But the way his eyes darted between both suggested it was maybe both. 

Taking pity on the man—he’d been laughed at by Ginny on more than one occasion and knew it stung the pride—Mike said, “Maddie, why don’t you put that away and come say hi to Miss Baker?”

His daughter’s head shot up at that, her little face lighting up. Somehow, she managed to avoid spilling her nail polish as she rocketed to her teacher’s side, practically bouncing with excitement. 

Ginny smiled, getting down on Maddie’s level, but she still threw a few curious glances at the ballplayers in the room. The ballplayers were much less polite, staring openly at her. Like they’d never seen a beautiful woman before.

Their attention made Mike’s hackles rise because he was apparently no better than an animal when it came to hopeless infatuation, but he managed to keep his cool. 

Taking a breath, he asked the hostess of the evening (not that he’d ever tell Evelyn that), “Do you want to introduce Miss Baker to everyone or should I?”

“I’ll do it!” Maddie exclaimed, grabbing Ginny’s hand and tugging her along. She went without protest, just throwing a quick grin over her shoulder to Mike. 

His daughter took her task very seriously for all her enthusiasm. She pulled Ginny over to Dusty first. 

“Miss Baker, this is Dusty. He plays baseball with daddy. Dusty, this is Miss Baker. She’s my teacher.”

“Hi,” Voorhies said with a little wave. 

Maddie stomped her foot. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” she scolded, making the man rock back. Ginny choked on a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth again.

“It’s not?”

“No! You say, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and shake hands. Right, Miss Baker?”

Ginny nodded, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing. Her eyes sparkled, though, telling Mike everything he needed to know about how much she wanted to let loose.

“We learned all about it in school,” Maddie continued, nodding wisely. “They’re called manners.”

Despite her best efforts, an odd, choked up sound escaped Ginny at that. Mike only barely managed to hold in his, but Livan didn’t even bother. He laughed long and hard, through Dusty’s correction and Omar’s mumbled greetings. He only sobered when Maddie and Ginny stopped in front of them, smirking up at them from his spot on the couch.

He waited long enough for Maddie to make it through his introduction before taking Ginny’s offered hand. Rather than shaking, though, he laid a kiss against her knuckles, murmuring something in Spanish. 

When Ginny replied, only slightly hesitant, in the same tongue, that smirk deepened, less shit-eating and more intrigued. 

Which was more than enough of that. 

“Why don’t you go find Uncle Blip and the boys, kid? Take Miss Baker with you and make sure to introduce her to Aunt Ev and Grandpa Al, okay?”

Once they were gone, he turned back to his teammates, leveling them with an unimpressed stare.

“You holdin’ out on us, Lawson?” Livan goaded, not bothering to remove the stupid wig, though both Omar and Dusty had already ditched their costumes.

Mike didn’t dignify that with a response, just said, “If you offend my kid’s teacher and she flunks Maddie out of school, just know I will hold you personally responsible.” He crossed his arms, frowning as forbiddingly as he knew how. Which was pretty fucking forbidding, for all that he didn’t get to use it that often. He’d learned his lesson the first time he accidentally made Maddie cry trying to get her to confess to spilling her paint set.

As it turned out, though, the guys were not the ones that he should’ve been worried about. 

Evelyn Sanders just loved to turn expectations on their heads. 

Which was exactly what she did when she sidled up to him at the kitchen sink as he rinsed off dinner plates before getting the pies set up for dessert.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” she demanded, though she sounded more excited than annoyed, which was always a good thing when Evelyn was demanding something. If he knew what she was demanding, though, he’d have been even happier. 

“Know about what?”

“Miss Baker!” 

“Uh,” Mike hedged, having a terrible feeling he knew too well what Evelyn was talking about now. Had he given himself away at dinner? Laughed too much at her jokes? Been too obvious about keeping Livan from flirting across the table? (He had broken out his awful Spanish to head off any repeat performances of their introduction, which was anything but subtle.) It was only coincidence that they ended up sitting next to each other; every other seat was taken by the time he finally came out to the dining room. Still, he was going to play dumb as long as Evelyn let him. “Yeah, Mrs. Colton had to go on maternity leave early, so Miss Baker took over Maddie’s class.”

“You know very well that’s not what I’m talking about, Michael Lawson,” Evelyn scolded with a huff. So, not long at all. “I’m talking about the fact that you have been seriously dating Miss Baker. So seriously, in fact, that you’re going to propose!”

Mike sputtered. If he’d been drinking, there would have been a spit take of epic proportions. “I’m what?”

“The boys told me that Maddie told them,” here, Evelyn began to frown, considering her sources, “that you and Ginny are going to get married and she’s going to have a new mom.”

There wasn’t a lot he could do in the face of that information aside from let the tap run and wash over his hands. 

God, he’d known Maddie liked Ginny, had been overjoyed when he told her her teacher was coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, but he hadn’t realized just how much. 

Gingerly, Evelyn reached over to shut off the tap. It took another beat for Mike to set down the plate he’d been rinsing and reach for a hand towel. Unsure of what else to do, he huffed out a disbelieving laugh, scrubbing at his face and hoping he’d wake up from this fever dream. 

He knew, without looking, that something was on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue. She was itching to say something, give him advice, though whether it was advice about Maddie or Ginny was a toss up. 

Before she could, though, they were interrupted. 

“All right, all right!” Ginny laughed over her shoulder before turning to Mike and Evelyn at the sink. Her laugh was still written all over her face, dimples fully on display and eyes dancing. “I’ve been sent to check on the progress of dessert.”

Evelyn was aghast. “Did Gabe and Marcus make you get up just for that? Gabriel! Marcus!”

“Oh, it wasn’t the kids,” Ginny replied dryly. 

“I want pie!” Voorhies shouted from the dining room. 

“Pie! Pie! Pie!” came an echoing chant, the high treble of his daughter just barely audible over everyone else.

Mike just shook his head, muttering, “Animals. I’m saddled with animals.” Still, he turned to the fridge and pulled out the waiting desserts while Evelyn went to restore order. Four entire pies that Mike was sure would be gone before the evening was over. 

“Need a hand?” came a voice from right beside him. It wasn’t a surprise, though. All evening, he’d been almost unnaturally aware of just where Ginny was in relation to him. He did faintly wonder when he’d developed that ability, but also didn’t think that was really a rabbit hole he could afford to go down. Not with the revelation Evelyn had just dumped on him.

He turned towards Ginny and found her with her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. She smiled, as bright and open as ever and Mike had to blink to get over just how much she blew him away.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally managed. “Grab the little plates for me?”

They walked back into dining room, only to be greeted with raucous cheers (for the pies, of course). When they took their seats again, Ginny’s arm brushed up against his. She glanced at him for a moment, but aside a little quirk of her lips, didn’t acknowledge the contact. Still, she didn’t move away, not when she fell into conversation with Al on her other side and not while she demolished three slices of pie on her own. She didn’t move away until everyone left the table, and then, she leaned into him, more than just a sway to help heave herself up, before she went. 

After she, and the rest of his guests, left, all Mike could think was that he definitely understood why Maddie was reluctant to admit that Miss Baker wouldn’t be in their life forever.

 

* * *

 

Arguably, it took Mike too long to set Maddie straight on the whole new mom thing. On Thanksgiving, she passed out before everyone had left, not even stirring when Mike picked her up from the couch and transferred her into her bed. Friday, Mike hadn’t quite figured out how to broach the subject, and Saturday, she spent most of the day with the Sanders boys.

It wasn’t until Sunday evening, the day before she was supposed to go back to school, that Mike was able to sit down with his little girl. 

They’d just finished dinner and Maddie’d asked to be excused—she really had learned some manners. 

“Actually, Mads, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

She shrugged, turning her trusting little face up to him. And why wouldn’t she trust him? He’d vowed to be the best dad possible, and he thought he’d done an okay job of it for not having any real example to follow.

“Okay, daddy,” she replied, folding her little hands on the table, elbows stuck out to the sides.

He smiled, utterly charmed by the picture she painted. Her little feet were probably swinging away under the table, too. Still, he couldn’t put this conversation off again. So, he took a deep breath and began, “Sweetheart, you know Miss Baker?”

Solemnly, she nodded, her attention unwavering. What he wouldn’t do for something to set off her short attention span. Something to distract her and send her careening away from the table. He could shrug and say he’d tried. Hope it all worked out for the best. 

No such luck.

“Well,” he paused and had to will himself to barrel forward, “I wanted to know why you think Miss Baker and I are going to get married.”

All of a sudden, it was like Mike didn’t exist. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, no matter how low Mike hunched to get in her line of sight. Maddie was, at least, still single-minded in her intensity. “Can I go play?” she asked, edging off her chair. 

“When we’re done talking.”

“There, you finished!”

“Mads,” he groaned, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

His little girl pouted, slumping in her chair. 

“Now, please tell me why you think Miss Baker is going to marry me.”

“Because she is.”

“That’s not a reason, kid. You—” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face “—you know we’re not really getting married, right? That’s just pretend?”

Maddie’s chin tipped up stubbornly. Still, Mike could see her lip begin to quiver. “It’s not pretend. You’re getting married and she’s going to be my new mommy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s not true.”

Her shoulders began to shake and Mike felt like his own heart was breaking at the sight of the fat teardrops pooling in her eyes. He’d done that. Well, he and the truth. Knowing he had about three seconds until a total meltdown, he slid around the table and gathered Maddie into his arms. 

He’d just barely got his ass in the seat when the wailing started. Honestly, Mike wasn’t sure where his daughter learned to cry quite so theatrically, but it was impressive. He rubbed up and down her shuddering back, cradling her in his lap and not caring that she was definitely smearing snot and tears all over his shoulder. If she needed to cry this one out, he wasn’t about to stop her. 

When the wailing died down, replaced mostly by sad little sniffles, Mike risked a question. “Which part is making you sad?”

He expected any number of replies. That they weren’t getting married. That Ginny wouldn’t be her mom. That she didn’t _have_  a mom at all. 

He didn’t think he could possibly have guessed her real answer in a million years.

Maddie peered up at him. Her little face was crumpled and red, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She took two, deep, juttery breaths, practically wheezing with the effort. Mike waited patiently, continuing to rub her back. Finally though, she managed to get out, “I don’t want Miss Baker to marry Jacob C’s uncle!” 

“What?” Mike sputtered. He’d gotten pretty good at following the leaps in Maddie’s thought processes, but he was at a loss here.

“I told Jacob C. that his uncle can’t marry Miss Baker because she’s already going to marry you! But you say she’s not, so that means she has to marry him!” she collapsed, sobbing and drained, back against his shoulder. 

Mike rubbed her back, soothing, but trying not to laugh at kindergarten logic. If this was all Maddie was worked up about, he felt just a tiny little bit less bad. Until he realized, Christ, he’d raised his kid to be as possessive as he was.

“Maddie, Miss Baker’s not going to marry anyone if she doesn’t want to.”

“But she _wants_ to marry him!”

“Doesn’t that mean she probably doesn’t want to marry me, then?”

“She wants to marry you, too!” she mumbled stubbornly.

“What makes you think that, Mads?” he sighed, knowing it was pointless to just tell her she was wrong. His daughter was stubborn as hell. Mike wondered who she got it from…

She just shook her head, clinging tightly to his neck. Finally, after much coaxing, he got her to mutter something into his shirt. 

“She smiles at us?” he checked, sure that couldn’t be right.

Maddie nodded, though, misery clinging to every inch of her tiny frame. 

Again, Mike had to struggle to hold in a chuckle. His daughter the drama queen. 

“You smile at Marcus and Gabe and all of your classmates. Does that mean you’re going to marry them?” A hesitant, short shake. “Okay. And how about me? I smile at lots of people. Your Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Blip, sometimes even at people I don’t know. Do you think I’m going to marry them?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, finally sitting up to frown at him. “But it’s different, daddy. She smiles different at you and Uncle Noah.”

Mike wasn’t sure how he felt about his kid calling some random man her uncle, but he got her point. 

Strangely enough, it gave him hope, even if it should maybe have kickstarted that jealous streak. Just Livan saying a few words to her in Spanish had managed to set it off. Odd as it was, this news about a potential other guy in the picture didn’t really bother him in the least because maybe Mike had a shot with her. If Ginny liked him enough that even his kid could see it, maybe he hadn’t been imagining things. Maybe he hadn’t been getting his hopes up for nothing. 

He didn’t tell Maddie, though. While he could handle dashed dreams—in fact, did every baseball season—he wasn’t going to risk subjecting his daughter to this heartache again.

Not until he knew for sure how Ginny felt, at least.

  

* * *

 

It was all well and good to resolve to have a grown up conversation with the woman he was rapidly developing feelings for. But, as anyone could tell you come February, it was one thing to resolve to do something and an entirely different thing to actually do it. 

Which was how Mike made it to the middle of December, only a few days to go before winter break, without making any kind of headway. This was his last day volunteering of the semester.

Which was why he was still lingering in Ginny’s room as his daughter and her classmates ate in the cafeteria. He was supposed to go when they filed out for lunch, but Ginny hadn’t kicked him out and Mike wasn’t leaving until she did or he figured out what to do.

Urgency and a general lack of a game plan, unfortunately, hadn’t yet made for a winning combination, and now was no different.

“My daughter tells me I should be congratulating you.”

Ginny looked up from where she was organizing a stack of artwork to send home, a confused frown furrowing her brow. Mike could’ve kicked himself, but he’d already sunk this far, might as well keep digging.

“She’s under the impression that you’re marrying Jacob Casey’s uncle.”

“Ah,” she laughed, a muted flush darkening her cheek. “That’s the news on the kindergarten grapevine these days, huh?”

“So I hear.”

She busied herself straightening the stack, but peeked up at him, uncharacteristically shy. Cute as she was, Mike kind of missed her giving him shit. 

“Noah Casey is a perfectly nice guy,” she said, standing from her desk and picking up the pile of drawings.

“I sense a but,” Mike said, not at all hopefully. 

“ _But,”_  she continued, casting him an exasperated glance. “he’s not really my type. Now help me put these in the cubbies, and stop fishing for gossip.”

Mike could take a hint. He also took half the pile off Ginny’s hands and started divvying artwork into the appropriate cubbies. Some of it was suspect to say the least. He knew these were just kindergartners, but geez, how did Ginny manage to stay so positive with them?

“Oh!” she exclaimed, brandishing a familiar drawing at him. “Here’s Maddie’s family portrait. She showed you, didn’t she?”

“She did,” he assured, his attention caught on the curly haired figure standing next to the bearded one. Was this how long Maddie had been thinking Ginny would join their family? Sweet Jesus.

“It was nice getting to put faces to—well, drawings, I guess. At Thanksgiving. I thanked you for inviting me, didn’t I?”

She had. Mike had walked her to the door and wished her a safe drive home. She’d straightened from pulling on her sneakers and smiled at him, rocking forward on her toes and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a quick hug, murmuring her thank you in his ear before she pulled away. 

It was a miracle he’d managed to see her out without incident. Or without the snickers that broke out as soon as the door swung closed blowing his cover. 

Without turning to Blip—because who else would it have been?—he’d muttered, “Shut up,” and gone to haul Maddie upstairs to her bedroom.

“You know that one’s supposed to be you, right?” he blurted rather than respond to her question. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. It was turning into something of a theme today.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling fondly down at the picture. “Maddie was so excited, she got out of her seat and ran up to my desk to show me. She told me that you were going to marry me and—”

“She what?” Mike sputtered, thrown for a loop.

“Oh,” she said, the picture of innocence. If he hadn’t spent the past three months getting to know her, he would’ve believed it, but the glimmer in her eye told Mike that Ginny knew exactly what she’d done. “Has she not told you this plan?”

“No, she has,” he wheezed. “I didn’t realize that she started with you, though.”

“It’s not so weird,” Ginny assured him, mischief melting into something softer. “Apparently, lots of kids with single dads think that about their teachers. I’ll take it as a compliment. I mean, I thought my kindergarten teacher was a witch all year. I still think that actually.”

Mike couldn’t help but laugh. It was laugh or worry himself sick over the fact that his five-year-old had decided to become his wingman. 

“Well, I’m sorry if my daughter sexually harassed you on my account.”

That horsey laugh he’d become so fond of made an appearance. Ginny had to brace herself on her knees from the force of it. When she peeked up at him, her face red and eyes sparkling, Mike had to swallow down a few truly stupid urges. 

Finally, she straightened, still giggling a little. “No, no! She actually made some solid arguments in your favor.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. She said that you have a pool and you know how to make the best blanket forts and usually, you take just her to all the baseball games during the summer, but she was sure I could come, too.” Mike laughed a little disbelievingly at that, and Ginny joined in. “To be fair, I hadn’t realized you were an actual player at that point, so I just thought she might not realize how season tickets work.”

“She definitely doesn’t.”

“Well, either way, it was clear how much she loves you. Maddie would be a shark in sales.”

Mike blinked, wondering if he was reading too much into that. Had his kid sold her on him before they even met? And if she’d liked him to begin with, what did she think now that they actually knew each other? 

“Would she?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but unable to keep his head from tilting to the side, giving away his curiosity. 

Ginny’s attention slid over to him. For a long moment, she studied him out of the corner of her eye before going back to distributing the last pieces of art into the correct cubbies. 

Just when he’d given up on getting a response, she murmured, “Well, I guess it’s not such a hard sell.”

It took every ounce of Mike’s willpower not to whirl on her at that. Instead, he calmly slid Emily P’s family portrait into her mailbox and turned calmly, sedately even, to face the teacher, his hands finally empty. Ginny was definitely blushing now, the high arches of her cheeks rosier than they had been before. Studiously, she kept her focus off of him, up until she, too, ran out of art to occupy her attention. 

When her hands were empty, too, she dared a peek up at him and gulped when she saw Mike’s attention squarely on her. Only then did Mike ask, “Oh really?”

Her flush darkened and she swallowed. To her credit, though, she didn’t allow herself to look away, and even turned to face him head on. 

In spite of her blush, her embarrassment, Ginny shrugged, almost managing nonchalance. “I mean, in spite of the fact that you’re constantly rolling your eyes at me and you’re really way too grumpy for someone who plays a kid’s game for a living and you refuse to put that creature on your face out of its misery, yeah, Mike. It’s not that hard to sell someone on you.”

His grin threatened to split his face in half it was so wide.

“You know,” he said, taking a step towards her and not bothering to tamp down on that wild grin, not even a little bit, “I think Maddie was trying to talk you up, too.”

Her head tipped back so she could keep her eyes firmly on his, but she didn’t back up. Not when it was her turn to ask, “Oh really?”

“Yep. She told me that you knew all the best games and read stories with the right voices and have a secret candy stash. And even though now I know you’re only in the teaching game so you can raise your own, mini feminist army—”

“Feminist army?” she laughed.

“And you just _love_ to interrupt me,” he continued, grin still in place, “and are lying through your teeth about my beard, I can see that Maddie was maybe onto something.”

“Something, huh?” Ginny took her own step forward, the toes of her sneakers nearly bumping against Mike’s boots. Her face tilted up to his, dimples fully on display as she practically beamed up at him. The last time they’d been this close, Ginny’d hugged him and Mike hadn’t known what to do with himself. He still didn’t know what to do with himself, but he intended to get more than a hug. 

As long as she was okay with it.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he warned, lips mere inches from hers, hands settling on her waist.

“You better,” she breathed, her own hands landing on his chest and sliding appreciatively up to his shoulders.

Agreement secured, Mike leaned in and sealed his mouth over hers.

He was fully aware, even as he pulled Ginny closer and nipped at her full bottom lip, that he really shouldn’t be making out with his daughter’s teacher in his daughter’s classroom during school hours. Anyone, from another teacher to the principal to, oh yeah, his _daughter_ , could walk in on them. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care, though. Not with Ginny’s fingers stroking against his beard as she cradled his face. Especially not when she sighed into him, opening her mouth to his. Their tongues tangled together, neither a contest of wills nor a conquest, just gentle, curious exploration. 

When they finally broke apart, Ginny hid her face in his chest, giggling a little helplessly as she caught her breath. He understood the feeling; he was pretty overwhelmed, too. Mike’s thumbs rubbed small circles into her sides, just below her rib cage, both to comfort and because he couldn’t bring himself to let go. 

Her giggles died away, but she didn’t emerge from the front of his shirt. He leaned back to try and get some view of her face, but she rocked with him. It was his turn to chuckle. In retaliation, Ginny stepped on his foot. 

“Hey!” he protested, not that she’d actually hurt him. “If that’s how it’s gonna be, then maybe I shouldn’t ask you out to dinner over the break.”

That finally got her to look up. It’d hardly been five minutes, but seeing her face again was such a relief. What kind of magic was that? 

“After _that_ ,” she countered through swollen lips, leaving no doubt to what she meant, “you better.”

 

* * *

 

It took a few years, but Mike eventually paid her back for that. 

In the space between the officiant asking, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” and Ginny’s response he mouthed the words back at her. 

 _You better_. 

Even with all the time between that day and this, all the memories they’d created together, Mike watched the recollection click and her smile grow even wider. 

Eyes sparkling as brightly as the day he met her—as stunned as he’d been that day, it had nothing on the depth of his feelings now—Ginny responded, nearly overflowing with joy, “I do.” 

This time, Mike wasn’t going to wait to be told he could kiss her. Instead, he drew his wife—his wife!—forward and was well ahead of the curve by the time he heard, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Judging by the way Ginny laughed into his mouth, she didn’t mind one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so much cuter than I expected out of myself, but am I surprised that Father of the Year, Mike Lawson pulled this out of me? Not at all.
> 
> Joudie, I hope this was somewhere in the range of what you wanted -xo
> 
> Everyone else, I also hope you enjoyed this. As someone who's not typically into kid!fic, I'm still a little obsessed with this AU... Let me know your thoughts! Who else should've been invited to Thanksgiving? Aren't kindergartners odd little ducks?


	39. way more than you hate it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Jealous!mike when guys keep flirting with ginny at the club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: sort of a 5 + 1 things thing, jealousy, real people involved but it's not RPF y'know?
> 
> chapter title: "In Da Club" by 50 Cent

**_Del Mar Country Club_ **

“I can’t believe that Oscar made us show up to this thing,” Mike muttered, fidgeting with his hat. 

At his side, Blip shifted. Mike didn’t need to look to know that he was being rewarded with a side eye of epic proportions. 

“You’re surprised that the celebrity golf tournament required celebrities?”

Mike scowled, crossing his arms and hating the way the polo shirt he’d had to borrow cut into his biceps. That had been old _before_  he’d been forced to play 18 holes with a bunch of snobs with more money than God. After, forced to mingle with those same snobs, they were pretty much torture.

“Do you even count as a celebrity?” he snarked, glad to finally find an outlet for his annoyance. Not that Blip was particularly satisfying to pick on.

“I’m a two-time All Star, baby,” the center fielder replied with a grin. “And don’t pretend this isn’t all because the people in your group didn’t know who you were.”

“I shouldn’t have to _apologize_ for being some yokel’s celebrity,” Mike snapped, giving up on getting comfortable. He was wearing plaid shorts for God’s sake, of course he wasn’t comfortable. “I should’ve told Oscar to go to hell when he asked.”

“Please. You know Oscar only asked us because he wanted Ginny here.  No way she would’ve agreed to this kind of circus without back up on hand.”

“Doesn’t seem like she needs much back up now,” Mike grumbled. 

Sure enough, a few feet away, Ginny was at the center of a knot of admirers. Her back was to her teammates, but the line of her shoulders was as relaxed as it ever was in public. Over the past ten minutes, she’d laughed six times. 

Not that Mike was counting. 

A rueful shake of the head and a clap to his shoulder was Blip’s only reply before he wandered off to find another passing hors d’oeuvres tray. The man loved his mini quiches. 

Mike couldn’t look away from Ginny, though. She laughed again ( _seven_ ), head tilting back a little as she swayed with the force of it. A real laugh, then. He scanned the group around her and wasn’t at all surprised to find that starry-eyed look that everyone seemed to get when they first realized exactly how beautiful Ginny Baker was planted on each face of the people surrounding her. It was a look Mike had seen all too often, both on and off the field. 

He found that it annoyed him more than it usually did, though. It was easy to laugh off the starstruck rookies and new trades to the team. It was even easier to rag on the guys from other teams who watched her a little too long, distracted by her face and form as much as her skill. Because, as Ginny’d said herself more than once, not one of those guys had a chance. 

But this was very different. This was Ginny surrounded by a bunch of men—and not a few women—who were neither baseball players nor anyone that she had any kind of professional connection with. And they weren’t the overgrown children her last boyfriend had been. Most of these people had serious jobs that made them real money. 

Not that money had been much of an issue for the geek. Noel something?

Whatever, good riddance to bad rubbish, Mike would always say.

Ginny deserved better than that schmuck. And all of the schmucks currently falling all over themselves to make her laugh. Like any of them knew what really got that horsey laugh going, not like he—

Swallowing down that ball of unpleasantness, Mike swaggered over, easily shouldering his way into the circle to take up a place at Ginny’s side. ( _His_  place at Ginny’s side, a dangerous little voice murmured in his head.)

“What’s so funny, Baker? I haven’t seen you laugh this hard since you shot milk out of your nose last month.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Mike was pleased to note that at least a few of her admirers looked mildly disgusted.

Mission accomplished seemed petty and juvenile, but, well.

Mission accomplished.  

 

* * *

**_Boys and Girls Club of San Diego_ **

 

“Can I have your autograph?”

It had to be the fifteenth time a kid had come up to Ginny with the same question today, but the pitcher’s smile was as bright as ever when she crouched to get on the little girl’s level. Mike wasn’t sure how she did it, though he was the one who’d been volunteering with the Boys and Girls Club for years. Much as he liked kids, liked these little camps the team ran, and even liked shooting the promotional videos like they were today, he’d never been quite the object of fascination the way Ginny was. 

(Especially after he grew out the beard. Something about looking too scary, probably.)

“Sure!” she chirped, taking the bright pink baseball out of the girl’s hand. “I’ve only got a black marker, is that okay?”

The little girl nodded solemnly, eyes wide. Her eyes flicked up to Mike and he did his best to give her a friendly smile. She didn’t run off screaming, which he counted as a win, but also turned her attention back to the woman before her, clearly deciding Mike wasn’t worth her time. Mike couldn’t fault her logic. 

She clutched her little tan and pink glove to her chest and watched with interest as Ginny signed the ball. Though Mike didn’t have much practical experience with kids, he figured she couldn’t have been much more than six or seven, with a long sheet of dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and sneakers covered in blue and purple flowers. The kid was cute. And she’d definitely picked a good role model.

Once the ball was signed, Ginny turned it over in her hand. “Where’d you get a ball this color?” she asked, smiling her encouragement.

The girl shrugged expressively. “My dad gave it to me.”

Ginny hummed and Mike watched her handle the kid, not bothering to hide the smile breaking across his face. “My dad used to make me practice with nectarines,” she said. “But I would’ve loved a ball like this. It would’ve been so much easier to find in the dark!”

The girl finally cracked a smile, giggling. Before she could say anything else, though, she turned at the sound of someone calling. 

“Gia, there you are! I thought you were going to wait in the dugout.” The man who approached had the sun behind him, so Mike had to squint to make him out. There was something very familiar about his voice, though. 

“But, dad! I got Ginny’s autograph!” the girl, Gia apparently, protested, holding up the ball for his inspection. 

Finally, he was close enough that the glare of the sun wasn’t an issue and Mike kind of wanted to kick himself. This wasn’t just any dad. This was the guy they’d hired as the spokesman for the video, another native son of San Diego County, though he’d made a career for himself based solely on his good looks rather than any kind of real talent. 

(And, no, starring in some 90s teen sitcom didn’t count as a real talent.)

Mulishly, he doubted the guy could even grow a beard, his face was so smooth.

“That was nice of her,” he said, flashing his boyish grin at the woman in question. Mike would’ve loved to say it was just the heat of the day, but he swore Ginny’s cheeks pinked up. “Did you say thank you?”

“Thank you!” Gia sing songed obediently before rushing over to the knot of kids who were here for today’s skills camp. 

Leaving the adults behind. 

“That was very nice of you,” the man repeated. “When Gia found out what I was doing today, she begged and begged to come along. All for the chance to meet her favorite player.” 

Ginny laughed, looking far too charmed. Wasn’t this guy married? Mike tried to think back to what Rachel had sighed about him, watching _Dancing With The Stars_ years and years ago. And that was another thing. This guy was even older than Mike. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, uncharacteristically shy. It looked like she was a hot second away from bashfully digging her toe into the ground. “I was pretty excited when I found out you were going to do this with us. I loved _Saved By_ —”

He cut her off with a laugh and Mike couldn’t help but remember doing nearly the same thing when Ginny’d tried to say something similar when they first met. This guy probably handled it better, though. 

“There’s a blast from the past! We definitely had a good time, though I can’t say that I miss the perm. Or the wardrobe.”

Ginny snorted. “I don’t know. All those tanks would be pretty nice when it’s as hot as it is today.”

“Very true,” he chuckled, and— God damn it. Was the man _flexing?_ That was more than enough of that.

“You think they’re ready for us?” Mike asked, dry and uncaring whether or not he was butting in where he wasn’t wanted. 

Ginny’s eyes slid over to him, one brow quirked, but she didn’t say anything. Judging by the look on her face, though, he was sure she’d have something to say later.

The guy—what show did he host? Something on MTV or Bravo?—blinked, apparently just taking in Mike’s presence, which only soured Mike on him more. He checked over his shoulder towards the camera crew and the mini command center they’d constructed near the visitor’s dugout. 

“I’m not sure. We could go check.”

Mike stared him down for a long moment, chewing impassively on his gum. It was only when Ginny rolled her eyes that he cracked a—completely false—grin.

“After you.”

He was rewarded with an odd, confused little smile, but he did get what he wanted. Namely, the guy walking away from Ginny without too much fuss. The fact that she followed after wasn’t too big a deal, especially not when she let Mike fall into step beside her. 

  

* * *

**_The Comedy Cellar_ **

 

If Mike was being honest, and lately he strived not to do that, he had zero interest in sitting in some hole in the wall comedy club after catching nine innings. But Ginny’d sounded so excited, nearly bouncing in her seat when she explained she’d been comped two tickets to that evening’s show and was going with or without accompaniment. 

And honestly, where Ginny went, Mike was almost guaranteed to follow. 

Dishonestly, he was here for an evening of amateur stand up and a two drink minimum. He assumed. He’d never actually been to a comedy club before. 

“Who are we here to see again and why did we have to come all the way to the Village to see ‘em?”

Ginny elbowed him, so Mike made a big show of nearly falling off the rickety stool. Hey, she wanted comedy, she was going to get it. She pressed her lips together and glared, which was how he knew she desperately wanted to laugh. He just waggled his eyebrows, and she broke, giggling hard enough that she bent forward and nearly pressed her forehead to the table top. 

In a flash, his hand shot out to intercept, pushing her back upright and saving her from God knew what had taken up residence on the sticky surface. 

She offered him a lopsided smile and finally answered his question. “It’s a guy named Mike Birbiglia.” 

“Birbiglia?” he repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. Then, with a sly grin, “Mike?”

Ginny just rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Remember that stand up special I made you watch with me? It’s that guy,” she explained, like it meant anything. 

Mike had lost track of the number of stand up specials he’d watched with Ginny. On Netflix, Comedy Central, HBO, she loved them all. Which was a little hilarious considering her own sense of humor had stopped developing at the indiscriminate pranking stage. 

Still, he nodded, figuring he’d recognize the guy when he came up on stage. 

As it turned out, though, this Birbiglia guy wasn’t the only comedian performing tonight and he also hadn’t kept his mouth shut about the special guest in the audience either. 

So, Mike had to sit through at least five separate acts—all young-ish guys, clearly still cutting their teeth—before getting to hear the one Ginny’d been so excited for. They were funny enough, but each and every single one of them took a moment to lose their minds over the fact that t _he Ginny Baker_  was watching them perform. Mike assumed that at least some of them were baseball fans, and Ginny certainly deserved every bit of admiration she got. 

The fact that not one, but three, of them offered up dates on the spot made him suspect that they were bigger fans of her appearance in Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Issue, though. 

Ginny laughed off every proposal, even when one guy turned it into a bit, promising her increasingly terrible incentives. She didn’t quite hit flirtation with any of her responses—the poor saps wouldn’t be able to handle it if she did—but it was a near thing.

For his part, Mike laughed along. As long as Ginny wasn’t uncomfortable with the attention, he wasn’t going to ruin her fun. Internally, though, he was trying to figure out which of the little twerps he’d like to bludgeon first. That and whether or not he could successfully drape his arm over the back of her chair and somehow make the maneuver seem casual to her and possessive to everyone else. 

Before he stooped quite that low, though, the man of the hour was being welcomed on stage. Beside him, Ginny let out a piercing wolf whistle. 

“Did I know you could do that?” Mike grumbled, rubbing his ear for effect. 

Ginny just grinned and leaned in—just so she could be heard over the noise, he was sure—to reply, “There’s lots you don’t know about me, Lawson.” When she pulled away, their eyes caught on each other and a long, charged moment passed between them. Mike had to shake himself in order to look away. 

When he did, the comedian, a guy Mike vaguely recognized, had already launched into his set. 

“Y’know, I haven’t told this story in a while, but I figure with our guests in the audience, it’s only appropriate. And since it is one of the most awkward things that’s happened to me, it’ll probably override the awkwardness of three separate dudes striking out with the same woman in thirty minutes. Or, I don’t know, it’ll at least give the night a different flavor of awkwardness?”

Ginny, who clearly knew the story he was talking about, leaned forward eagerly. Mike kept an ear half-cocked for the rhythm of the joke, but he was more concerned with the rapt attention on his pitcher’s face. She practically vibrated with excitement as the story went on, nearing the punchline—something about Dennis Eckersley that Mike would not have been shocked to learn was entirely true—and busting a gut when it finally landed.

This perfectly ordinary, middle aged guy effortlessly managed to enrapture the woman sitting next to him. 

Which was somehow worse than having to witness fifty people ask Ginny out. That was basically par for the course when it came to hanging out with her. Mike had actually lost track of the number of times a total stranger had asked her to marry them. But it was rare that he saw her so completely absorbed when a baseball game wasn’t on the table. 

Before he could sink too deep into his resentment for this other Mike, though, Ginny turned to him, eyes bright. 

“Were you at that dinner, do you think?”

He thought about it. He’d been to a lot of MVP dinners in his time. Eventually, he shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

“They say that memory is the first to go,” she tutted in false sympathy. 

“You trying to prove you deserve a turn up there?” he asked, exasperated and nodding towards the stage.

Her wrinkled nose was answer enough, but she shook her head with a, “Nah,” too. Casually, she continued, “I’d rather listen with you,” before turning back to the front. 

Suddenly, Mike was feeling a little more charitable towards comedy clubs and even the stand ups who performed in them. 

  

* * *

**_Wrigley Field’s Visitor’s Clubhouse_ **

 

“Knock knock.”

Mike, as well as most of his teammates because the room was small enough that they could all hear each other’s business, looked towards the door. Not only because someone had actually accompanied the sound with the words “knock knock,” like they were starting a joke, but because no one had a clue what was going on. The press had already been ushered out and all the club bigwigs had already put in their appearances with Al and Oscar. Who else would want to visit the smallest, oldest clubhouse in MLB?

Taking it upon himself as captain, Mike called out, “Yeah?” not knowing what would greet him

The double doors pushed open to reveal at least ten of the reigning World Series Champions, looking strangely out of place for all this was their ballpark. Clearly, most of them had never been over to the Visitor’s clubhouse before, though they had to have heard stories.

Ginny definitely had. The whole bus ride over from the hotel this morning, she’d been frowning as the guys bitched and moaned about the prospect of three days in Chicago. 

“It’s one of the most historic parks in the country. How aren’t you excited to play there?”

“It’s not the playing that’s the problem, rookie,” Mike responded. He’d never quite kicked the habit of calling her that and she’d eventually stopped reminding him. “It’s the clubhouse.”

“The _clubhouse_?” she demanded, sounding utterly disgusted with them.

“Just wait ‘til you have to spend a rain delay in here, Baker,” Mike had warned ominously. She’d rolled her eyes, but the first time she got a good look around the cramped space, he knew she was thankful for the clear forecast. 

After the obligatory round of greetings, where their opponents tried to come in only to be met by the majority of the Padres suddenly blocking their entrance, an awkward silence descended.

“You know that you guys have your own, much bigger, clubhouse, right? They just finished the renovations last year. I hear it’s pretty nice,” Blip snarked, eyeing the group of men they were supposed to play in two and a half hours.

“Yeah,” Mike snorted, pushing to his feet to join his team. “If you wanted to visit, you shoulda told the owners to move up the timeline on renovations over here, too.”

“Hey, we’re just bein’ friendly. Welcoming you to Wrigley and all,” Rizzo said, flashing a grin for his old team. 

No one bought it.

“Most of us have played here before,” Sonny replied, suspicious.

“Not everyone,” muttered Heyward, who was unsubtly trying to crane his neck to see around the solid wall of Padres.

On its own, it probably wouldn’t have been enough to raise suspicion, but combined with the way everyone shushed him and Bryant shoved an elbow in his ribs, it definitely was. 

A lightbulb went off over Mike’s head. The wandering eyes, the altar boy innocence, hell, their presence here at all, really only meant one thing.

A mocking smile curved over his mouth and he crossed his arms, chin tipping up challengingly. 

“You wanna meet Baker, don’t you?”

Immediately, the Padres bristled, even as the contingent of Cubs protested. 

“No!”

“Of course not!”

“We’re just here to say hey. To everyone!”

“… Maybe.”

There was a long silence at that, and though Mike wasn’t sure who’d said it, his money was on Russell. (The kid was younger than Ginny, there was no way he’d learned how to bluff yet.) But the lull was just the eye of the storm. They all started talking. Over one another and springing off each other’s points as they tried to make their case.

“It’s just—”

“She hadn’t been called up yet when you played here last summer—”

“And when we went to San Diego, her arm—”

“She wasn’t out at BP or even shagging balls—

“We don’t wanna bother her or anything—”

It was all one big jumble that Mike struggled to wade through. Right up until Rizzo looked right at him and asked: 

“Can we just say hi, Mike?”

Mike puffed up his chest, probably liking too much that he got the final say so in who got to see Ginny. Even if it was just his authority as captain. Blip stood frowning at his side, arms folded over his chest. They traded a look and shrugged in tandem. 

“She’s stretching in the hall. You’ve got five minutes.”

With a a whoop, the pack of ballplayers shuffled through the muttering crowd of Padres, at least three of whom peeled off to enforce that time frame. 

Once the cramped locker room of the clubhouse was a little less crowded, Mike slumped into the lightly padded folding chair at his cubby with a wince and a groan. God, he missed his chair at Petco. With the actual lumbar support and the way three years of sitting in it had molded it pretty perfectly to his ass. 

When he opened his eyes, Blip was staring down at him, his eyes narrowed and that look on his face. The look that said the wheels were turning and he was on the verge of figuring something out. 

Usually, though, Mike had some kind of clue as to what Sherlock Sanders was going to uncover. Not the case today. 

“What?” he demanded, twisting in the chair to pull a roll of KT tape out of his bag.

“You’re not gonna supervise?”

Mike rolled his eyes, picking fruitlessly at the edge of the tape. He didn’t have to put it on yet, just didn’t want to look at whatever smug, knowing expression Blip was wearing. He did have the grace not to pretend he didn’t know exactly what Blip was referring to, though.

“Does she suddenly require supervision?”

The chuckle his second in command loosed at that was not comforting. Then again, it probably wasn’t meant to be. “No,” he replied, taking his own seat, “but it’s good to hear _you_ acknowledge that.”

Mike just grumbled, but forced himself to sit through the five minutes like an actual adult. 

Still, when he saw the backs of the Cubs disappearing out the door, it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t a little bit relieved. 

Well, the backs of most of them. 

Mentally, Mike went through a tally of the guys he’d seen come in and realized one was missing. He hadn’t really thought to check and see _who_ was leaving, too happy that they were actually going. A few nightmare scenarios ran through his mind: Bryant trying to put the moves on Ginny and her being into it, her meeting Baez and deciding to adopt another hothead, Arrieta offering to let her rub the beard for luck…

Ignoring the smirk on Blip’s face, Mike shoved to his feet and went off to track down the rogue Cub. An echoing squeak of plastic and metal alerted him that Blip was coming for the ride along.

It didn’t take them long to find them. Ginny was exactly where she’d said she’d be, seated on the faux turf that lined this particular hallway for no particular reason. But rather than Bryant or Baez or Arrieta with her, it was Koji Uehara, the Cubs’ new reliever and one of the few guys in the game older than Mike. Half a decade older, in fact.

Uehara was crouched down, apparently demonstrating some kind of arm stretch, which Ginny copied. Her slight frown grew into a grin as it achieved the results she’d been looking for. The other pitcher smiled back before realizing they now had an audience. He rose to his feet and nodded at both Blip and Mike before offering Ginny a short bow and leaving.

They all watched him go, a little stunned. It was Blip who broke the silence. 

“Damn, Ginny. How is it you always find the oldest guy to befriend?” he laughed. “Butch gives you all his best kept secrets, you’ve got Al wrapped around your finger, and don’t even get me started on Lawson.”

Ginny flung a stray ball at him and looked about ready to stick her tongue for good measure when he snatched it out of the air. For his part, Mike didn’t know why _he_  had to be pulled into it. 

(Except he absolutely did. 

It probably had something to do with the way his heart practically leapt at Ginny’s breezy response, even though he told himself to cool it.)

“Maybe I like the old guys.”

Blip only laughed harder.

 

* * *

**_The Abbey_ **

 

Mike was getting too old for this shit. 

But, they’d swept their series in LA and even he could admit that that was cause for celebration. They were already midway through September and were, barring some kind of disaster, a shoo in for a Wild Card spot, if not clinching the division altogether. But every win built their momentum, and morale was at an all time high. 

It only made sense to keep it going.

Mike just wished they hadn’t kept it going _here_  of all places. 

It wasn’t until they crowded inside that he understood all the funny looks Ginny’d tossed him on the ride over. To be fair, Mike had been to a lot of bars in his time. A lot of bars just in LA, even. How could he be expected to remember them all? The wash of blue lights on brick walls and that monster white leather couch in the back were pretty good reminders, though. The sight of Ginny holding her hand out to him, asking him to dance with her. Him shaking her off and watching as she shrugged and melted into the crowd, throwing her body around like she didn’t care about the spectators. 

Yeah. That’d all happened _here._

Jesus. The only way this could be worse was if they’d gone back to Boardner’s. 

So far, the night wasn’t shaping up to be all that different. There’d been a few half-hearted attempts to get him on the dance floor from the guys and that same, slightly husky, “Lawson,” from Ginny, but Mike’s ass had made itself at home on the couch. He wasn’t leaving it come hell or high water. 

Except it appeared that the universe was out to test him.

“Oh, there’s a live one!” exclaimed Salvi, gesturing wildly with his drink towards the bar. 

Automatically, most of the guys who’d stuck behind in their private section turned to look. A wave of chuckles and shaking heads swept through them. 

Curious, Mike looked, too.

At first, all he saw was a dense crowd of people surrounding the bar. Then, the throng parted and he was granted an unimpeded view of Ginny leaning against the counter, head turned towards the bartender making her drink. To the side, some guy was inching closer, clearly trying to play it cool. 

Not cool enough if he’d attracted the attention of these goons. 

“What’re his chances?” Butch wondered. 

“That he gets shot down?” Salvi thought about it for a long moment before declaring, “Three to one.”

Mike nearly choked on his drink. The odds should’ve been way higher. In his totally unbiased opinion.

Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

Dusty whistled. “So low?”

“It’s been a while, right? Since the billionaire got kicked to the curb?”

“What about those dates she went on with Captain America?”

“We never proved that happened,” Salvi reasoned. “All the pictures online were blurry and neither of their agents released a statement. But even if it did happen, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah and she wouldn’t let us take her to that Magic Mike place in Miami,” Sonny added, sounding oddly put out. 

“Right!” The first baseman nodded enthusiastically, jabbing his finger at Sonny. “She’s probably pretty hard up. I stand by the odds. Three to one. Who wants in?”

There was a flurry of guys reaching for their wallets to take him up on it.

Mike watched this all unfold with increasing— Annoyance? Horror? Maybe a little amusement? How much time and thought had they put into this weird little betting ring?

Diverting as they’d been, though, his attention slid back to Ginny standing at the bar with a stranger. Her chin rested against her shoulder, though she didn’t turn all the way to face him as he spoke. That had to be a good sign. 

But then. She laughed. Bright enough that Mike could practically feel it in his gut, where it stirred up the swarm of butterflies that only seemed to come alive when Ginny was in the picture. 

Without thinking about it, he was on his feet. 

“Where are you going?” Blip demanded, taking a healthy swig from his beer.

Mike hardly had the brain power to respond, too caught up in the way the stranger was leaning into Ginny’s space.

“Can’t let the knees seize up,” he replied absently, not really caring who believed him. 

Or what bets were being made as he left.

He pushed through the crowd, trying to ignore the flashes of memory that wanted to swamp him as he went. Ginny’s hair tossing as she commanded the dance floor. Even in leggings and a half-zip, she’d drawn every eye in the room. 

Including his. Which was why he’d left.

But there were no more hot, blonde agents to run to. Not that Mike had much intention of running away from anything tonight.

When he finally made it to the bar, Ginny was standing on her own again, which made him sigh in relief. Even if he would’ve loved to have witnessed her send the other guy on his way. 

“Make a new friend?” he asked, sliding into the now unoccupied space at her side. 

Ginny didn’t even flinch, just shrugged and took a sip from her bottle. 

“The guys were betting on whether or not you’d shoot him down.”

She nodded, completely unsurprised. “They do that.”

That surprised a laugh out of Mike. “You knew?”

“Of course. I’ve been helping Blip out whenever Salvi lets the odds get really high. We clean up.”

Mike kept laughing, shaking his head in wonder. Every bit of herself that Ginny let him discover was better than gold.

“You weren’t tempted to game the system tonight?” he asked, maybe a little too intent for how lighthearted they’d been up until now.

“No need to worry, captain,” she said with a wicked grin. “This guy definitely wasn’t boyfriend material.”

“Well, that’s good since you’ve already got one of those.”

“Do I?” she returned, cocking her head to the side. Like she really had to think about it.

“Ginny,” he groaned, wishing he could crowd against her the way he had a few weeks ago—nearly a year to the day after the first time he’d done it last August—and remind her. 

(His self control had finally snapped when they’d finally knocked the Cardinals out of the second Wild Card spot. She’d thrown herself into his arms on the field, laughing into his neck for all she hadn’t thrown a single pitch to win the game. It’d taken all of Mike’s willpower not to kiss her right there, settling for banding his arms around her back and spinning them both around until he was dizzy. 

Later, though, when he’d showered and changed back into his street clothes, he’d tapped at her dressing room door. When she opened it, he hadn’t waited one second before leaning down and capturing her lips with his. 

When he’d finally let her go, all she’d said was, “Took you long enough.”

He’d never won a championship, but it was safe to say that that was the best night he’d ever have.)

“Mike,” she sing songed back, batting her eyelashes at him. Her chin was tucked to her shoulder, almost an exact mirror of the way she’d been standing with the guy who’d just been standing in Mike’s place. The thought of her looking up at someone else so flirtatiously, so invitingly, had Mike’s blood ready to boil. 

He’d spent so much time over the past season telling himself not to be jealous of every person who got even a sliver of Ginny’s attention. Because what claim did he have on her, anyway? 

Now that the dam had broken, though, now that he knew what she tasted like and the sounds she made as she fell asleep or apart in his arms, he couldn’t pretend any longer. 

She was his, damn it. As much as he was hers. 

Finally, she took pity on him, giggling and leaning to press her shoulder against his bicep. It was as much touching as they allowed themselves in public, though Mike sometimes daydreamed about visiting her on the mound and sweeping her into one of those overwrought, dramatic kisses just for the hell of it. 

When she turned her face up to him, her chin nearly rested against his shoulder. Right on the spot she’d kissed this morning before leaving his hotel room to sneak back into hers.

“I told you not to worry, captain,” she teased. “I definitely know boyfriend material when I see it.”

The fact that her gaze didn’t waver from his face, not once, definitely soothed the curl of jealousy winding through Mike’s gut. It would’ve died a very satisfactory death if he could’ve kissed her then and there, but it wasn’t time for that.

Not yet at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from the bar—which is from the show and I don't think they ever name?—all of these places are real. Basically all of the people are real, too. Well, all of the people who I named and one who I didn't. (Was it obvious enough who I meant?)
> 
> I didn't intend for each section to get progressively longer, but they did. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think! What kind of club did I miss? (I did seriously think about doing a motorcycle club but got distracted by the names of comedy clubs.) Drop me a line here or on tumblr. I'm megaphonemonday over there!


	40. a wordless, unspoken poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: mike driving ginny home after a night of partying & their obvious connection becomes too much for them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: no dialogue, okay very little dialogue, it's a little weird
> 
> chapter title: Tarif Naaz quote, "Love is _a wordless unspoken poem_."
> 
> Consider listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gNbRU0zb2g) while you read?

Mike Lawson leans back against the bar, a bottle of beer that had ceased to sweat nearly twenty minutes ago in one of his hands. His eyes scan the crowd, not in interest, but seeking out someone specific. 

He finds her and one corner of his mouth tilts up. Not quite a smile, but certainly a hint of fondness.

Across the crowded room, Ginny Baker looks up from the conversation she’s having with Sonny and Blip, like she’s aware of the attention on her. His attention, specifically. None of the many stares pointed her way seem to affect her the way his does. Her eyes catch on Mike’s and that same tilt takes over her lips. 

Mike quirks a brow and Ginny’s head ducks. She glances up and Mike shrugs. A smile, a real one, brighter than the neon signage decorating the walls, breaks across her face and Mike’s eyes roll. She shakes her head, finally catching the attention of the two men closest to her. They take one look at where her attention is, though, and there’s another round of head shaking. 

Not that either Mike or Ginny notice.

Instead, Mike tilts his head to the front of the bar, the door, with a raised brow. Ginny nods, ignoring both Blip and Sonny as they trade rueful grins, and throws some cash on their table before winding her way to Mike. She weaves through the crowd, as light on her feet as ever, but can’t help but brush against a few people as she goes. It’s crowded tonight, and not just because word got out that Ginny Baker is in attendance. 

One of those people recognizes her and Mike watches as she pauses to take a selfie, leaving the guy star struck long after she continues on her way. When she finally gets to Mike, the look on her face dares him to make a comment. He just holds up his hands, palms out. He jerks his head to the door again and she nods. 

Together, they make their way out to his car. 

Mike slides into the driver’s seat of the low-slung sports car and though it should seem like a study in contrasts, he looks incredibly at home behind the wheel. Ginny folds her long legs into the passenger’s side, shaking her head. She doesn’t have to say anything for Mike to know what she’s thinking. They’ve had the conversation often enough. Still, her fingers trace over the hand-stitched leather of the seat appreciatively. 

He has to tear his eyes away, gunning the engine before pulling out of the spot. 

Ginny’s restless fingers move on from the line of stitches. They dance just over where Mike’s hands rest on the gear shift and land on the radio. 

Music, something poppy and overplayed, fills the intimate space, lit up only by the blue glow of the dashboard controls and intermittent slashes of gold: passing streetlights.

Before he even has time to sneer, Ginny’s changing the station, tossing him a knowing look. She’s lit up for a brief moment by oncoming headlights, dimples cast in deep shadow. Mike settles back in his seat as she flicks through the options, the buzz of static punctuated by bursts of song or speech. Her nose crinkles more and more the further she goes until she finally gives in and turns it off. 

The car descends back into quiet, only broken by a steady _tick tick tick_  when Mike changes lanes. 

Ginny closes her eyes, far too comfortable in the low bucket seat. She props her feet up on the dash and though Mike’s eyes follow the movement, he doesn’t protest. Instead, he focuses back on the road, attention caught by a familiar sign. 

Without asking, he turns in. 

Ginny’s eyes open as she feels her body lean with the turn, and she lights up at the sight of an In-N-Out. Tired as she is after a long night and longer day, she’s not going to turn down a midnight snack. 

Pivoting in her seat, she offers Mike a big grin. He rolls his eyes, like her enthusiasm is too much, but a grin of his own lurks beneath the beard. 

He pulls into a parking spot and kills the engine. Ginny doesn’t complain that he won’t let her eat in the car, though she does pout, just a little. Still, she climbs out and falls into step with her captain, his arm fitting easily over her shoulders. Her own wraps around his back as they head for the walk-up window. 

In minutes, what they get for showing up for burgers at nearly midnight—no wait—they have their food, a truly impressive array for two people. 

Ginny leads the way to one of the picnic tables set up nearby, leaving Mike to balance the boxes of food and drinks. Rather than sit like the fully grown adult she is, she climbs up and seats herself on the table itself, feet planted on the bench. Mike follows suit with a long suffering sigh and a rueful shake of his head, setting the food in the space between them. It’s all for show, though, his grin breaking free as he watches Ginny dig in.

There’s no use talking to Ginny when she’s eating, and Mike doesn’t even try. Instead, he sneaks glances at her from the corner of his eyes. Each glance lingers longer and longer until he’s just staring, unabashed. 

When she finally notices, she doesn’t blush or duck away. Her head tilts to the side and she turns to him. Their knees knock together and two sets of eyes fly down to the point of contact. Slowly, both of their gazes trail back over the other, Ginny taking in Mike’s solid thigh and how soft his flannel looks, Mike noticing the way the hair on Ginny’s arms stand on end and her fingers tighten on what's left of her Double-Double. Finally, their eyes lock together again. 

Some kind of understanding must pass between them because while they both look away, neither is disappointed. If anything, there’s an air of anticipation condensing around them. 

They go back to eating.

Neither moves their knee. 

Not until they’re both done and Mike clambers down, crumpling up wrappers and collecting napkins to throw away. When he turns back to Ginny, he stops in his tracks. 

She’s got her arms braced behind her, face tipped up to the sky. A few curls flutter across her forehead in the light breeze. Even in the harsh light of the In-N-Out parking lot, she’s so clearly beautiful. She’s always beautiful, there are enough pictures of her in the middle of games to prove that, but there’s something about tonight that hits Mike right between the eyes. 

After a moment, Ginny comes back to herself. Her chin tips back down and she catches Mike standing a few feet away. 

She smiles and beauty becomes radiance. 

She reaches her hand out and in a heartbeat, Mike’s crossed the distance to take it. He hands her down and for a moment they just stand, fingers twined together. Eventually, though, Ginny tugs and they head back to the car. 

When Mike pulls back onto the road, Ginny doesn’t bother to turn the radio on again. The quiet is comfortable, anyway. She doesn’t want to leave it. 

Mike seems to sense that, pointing the car away from either of their places, heading for the coast. 

He drives north, for all it’s not as good a view from the passenger’s side. If it keeps Ginny’s face tilted towards him, to take in the vast, glittering expanse of the Pacific, that’s not why Mike smiles as they drive. 

They pass by a road sign and while neither of them mention it or point it out, both know what they’ll do. 

In no time, Mike’s car is pulling into another parking lot, this one lit up only by the waning moon and paved in gravel. 

Still, Ginny throws herself out of the car with even more enthusiasm than In-N-Out had earned. She rounds the front of the hood, already reaching for Mike’s hand again. Willingly, he gives it to her, and they trudge down the narrow path that will lead them to their goal. Dense shrubs gather close, like they guard some well kept secret. 

And not a public beach. 

When they finally break back into the free air, Mike makes sure to turn and watch Ginny’s face as she lays her eyes on the ocean up close for the first time of the evening. Clearly, he’s seen the look before, but the way he grins, rapt, says that it’s just as delightful now as it’s ever been. When Ginny turns back to him, she grins, too. 

And dashes for the shoreline, Mike’s hand still held tight in hers. 

He stumbles a little after her, his heavy boots sinking into the stand. She’s so eager, though, he presses on, unwilling to be the thing to hold her back.

They stop just beyond the high tide mark, somehow managing to kick off shoes and roll up pant legs with their fingers tangled together. 

Together, they run into the waves. 

They both inhale hard at the shock of cold water, though it only swirls midway up their calves. 

There’s a long moment where Ginny and Mike size each other up from the corners of their eyes, lips twitching, clearly considering the possibility of starting some kind of splash war. But the night is so calm, so quiet. It would be a shame to break that, even with their joy. Instead, they wade through the ebb and flow, making their way down the beach, fingers still twined together. 

(There are many kinds of joy.)

Soon, she’s shivering. 

Mike reels her in, wrapping his arms around her, hands chafing her arms to get the blood flowing again. She slips her arms into the open front of his flannel, tucking them around his waist, between his skin-warm t-shirt and the soft plaid. Her head falls against his chest and Mike props his chin against the springy cushion of her hair. 

Cool water still rushes against their ankles, their feet being sucked deeper into the wet sand. Neither of them move, though, too wrapped up in one another.

Ginny nuzzles her cheek against his chest before pulling away. Just far enough that she can look up and trace Mike’s features in the weak light of the moon. He returns the favor, studying her dear, familiar face. 

Her throat bobs in a gulp and Mike returns his gaze to hers. 

He must find something he likes because he leans in, just a bit. Enough to make his intention clear, but keeping enough distance to ensure the choice is hers. 

She makes it.

Her face tilts up to him and she connects their lips in a kiss. 

A first kiss. 

Tender and a little off-center, but as sure as they ever are. 

One of his hands comes up to cradle her cheek and she sighs, leaning into his palm as her lips drop open. Under his flannel, her fist curls into the fabric between his shoulder blades, a hardly visible lump to anyone watching. For a long moment, their tongues tangle, easy and eager at the same time. 

When they pull apart, entirely unsated, but needing to breathe, Mike’s forehead leans heavily against Ginny’s. Like neither can bear the thought of moving further away. His nose bumps against hers and she returns the nuzzle. 

With a deep breath, Ginny looses her hold on Mike’s shirt. She smooths the fabric against his back, her hands trailing against his spine before she finally lets him go. 

Shakily, Mike exhales. His thumb caresses the arch of her cheekbone, one long sweep. He readies himself to step away. Step back. 

But Ginny surprises him. She turns into his palm, lips pressing a gentle kiss to the center. Her hand comes up to pull it away from her face, but she doesn’t drop it. Instead, palms together, she laces her fingers between his.

Last, she tips her face up to him, smiling.

“Take me home, Mike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right, i know this one was a bit weird, but I got the idea in my head and then couldn't write it any other way. Did it work? Sort of? Not at all? Let me know!


	41. wake up to reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous (and honestly 90% of the commenters on the original): Can I pretty please request a follow-up to your [tattoo-ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21374432) because wow would I like to see that premise actually run its course to when Mike finds out exactly what Ginny is hiding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Future!fic, tattoos, World Series, follow up to chapter 25: "got you deep in the heart of me" 
> 
> chapter title: "I've Got You Under My Skin" by Frank Sinatra

Thinking back, much of Mike’s adult life had been spent waiting. Waiting to get called up. Waiting for Rachel to call him back. Waiting for her to want kids. Waiting to be made captain. Waiting to make it to the playoffs, the World Series.

Some of them had never come to anything and some might never, but Mike had gotten used to it, had even accepted it.

One wait, though, had only one possible outcome:

Waiting out the end of his contract. 

Which felt like a terrible way to put it. A terrible way to spend his last few years as a ballplayer. Because it wasn’t that he didn’t love the game anymore or didn’t wish that he could keep playing. No, it was just that Mike had finally accepted that his knees and back and the rest of him, too, weren’t getting any younger. Trying to ignore that was only going to end in heartache. 

And anyway. Even if it was a terrible way to put it, that didn’t make it any less true. Once this contract ran out, that was it. 

Mike Lawson was out of baseball for good. 

But for once in his life, that didn’t send Mike into a spiral of existential dread. Finally, he could see beyond the end of his baseball career, and it was all because there was finally someone waiting for him. 

Still, he did his best to enjoy his last two seasons.

And his best, if he did say so himself, was pretty damn good.

Good enough to have led the Padres to the World Series for the first time in club history. 

Honestly, it felt like some sort of fairy tale. That was the only explanation. 

They’d won the Wild Card as the five seed and then managed to knock out the number one Cubs and then the Nationals after them, catapulting them onto baseball’s greatest stage.

And now he was playing in Game 7 of the World Series in front of a sold out home crowd. There were thousands of people in the stands, a huge number of whom were wearing his number to watch him play the last game of his professional career. 

Heartening as that was, the only person that Mike really cared about witnessing the occasion was camped out on the top step of the dugout, like she was ready to take the field at any moment. Not that that would be happening. She didn’t have any chance of coming into the game after making her mark in Game 4.

If she happened to be the one person whose jersey sales outnumbered his, season after season, Mike had come to terms with that, too.

(After all, she’d had the good taste to have _his_ number permanently branded on her body.

Yeah, he knew all about that.)

Crouched behind the plate as Ginny threw her warm up pitches, Mike’s eyes had narrowed as her hand made yet another pass over her uniform before retrieving the ball from her glove. She’d done it in the bullpen, too. She wasn’t wiping off dirt or sweat that might interfere with her grip: she did that on her thigh. It almost seemed like she had an itch, right around where the band of her sports bra would sit. For a while, Mike had thought she was just nervous—after all, she was the first woman to pitch in a World Series game, it was a lot to shoulder—and she’d settle after an inning or two.

But from the very first pitch, she hadn’t faltered, shutting down Red Sox batters like they were still in Little League. 

Still, that tic didn’t go away. It didn’t happen every time, though Mike did notice she’d scratch more if she’d shaken him off a few times already. 

Finally, in the bottom of the fourth, he’d trudged out to the mound. Just to get answers. She’d also just given up a triple and a run, but Mike had faith she’d get her head on straight with or without him.

He was less confident that she wouldn’t scratch a bloody hole in her side with the way this strange little habit was going. 

“Do you have a bug bite or something?” 

“What?” she demanded, glove over her mouth. Over the top of the leather, though, her eyes were squinted, incredulous. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that particular question.

Mike gestured at his own ribs, where Ginny’d been scratching all game. Though her glove covered most of her face, he’d spent the better past of the past three years learning all about reading Ginny Baker. She was shocked, cagy, and more than a little embarrassed. 

“A bug bite. Yeah,” she finally squeaked. 

Squeaked! If they weren’t on the mound being watched in real time by millions of people, he would’ve broken into the sappiest grin. God, she was adorable. 

As it was, he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.

“Yeah?”

She nodded and held out her glove for the ball. 

One last squint, which Ginny pointedly ignored, and Mike nodded back, working his wad of gum. He handed the ball over and backed down the mound, only turning away when the umpire shouted at him to get his ass behind the plate. 

Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. 

An inning and a half later, Mike sidled up to Ginny in the dugout. He tapped his hip against hers and she took her eyes off the field for a brief moment to flick a look in his direction. 

Guiltily, her hand fell back to her side. 

“So, a bug bite, huh?”

“That’s what I said,” she bit out, looking edgier about this than the fact that they were smack dab in the middle of the World Series. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jaw set, just daring him to push it.

Well, Mike did love to disappoint. 

Sucking on his teeth, gazing out at the field, he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go with that.”

He smirked at the exasperated look on her face and moved off before the cameras could catch them and the sports casters could start speculating. There was enough speculation going on in his own head, he didn’t need external input. Not with so much on the line.

Which was why it was probably a bad idea to go back out to the mound in the bottom of the seventh. Ginny was on a roll and really didn’t need a distraction. At the same time, she was nearing her pitch limit, and something told Mike that he wanted to know what was up with the rib scratching before she was out of the game. 

So, he waited until Ginny shook him off twice in a row—she’d never quite grown out of the need to make him work for his calls, and now Mike hoped she never would—and her hand dropped to her side before he signaled to the ump and made his way to the woman on the mound. 

She watched him come, hip cocked to the side and more than a little exasperated.

Before he could open his mouth to say… something (he’d figure it out as he went), Ginny sighed and cast her eyes up, not quite an eye roll, but suspiciously close. 

“Fine, it’s not a bug bite.”

He rocked back on his heels, eyebrows inching up his forehead in surprise. Not at the revelation, but at the fact Ginny’d admitted it at all. 

“I am shocked, Baker,” he drawled, barely remembering to get his mitt up, “that you would lie to your captain like that.” Her only response was a slow blink, utterly unimpressed. Mike would’ve worried about the optics of it all if it weren’t for the reluctant grin tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Well, are you gonna give me the truth, then?”

“It’s the tattoo, okay?”

Mike blinked. 

Honestly, he hadn’t really come up with any kind of explanation for Ginny’s sudden bout of itchiness, but her tattoo was the last thing he would have thought of. Because he did his level best not to think of her tattoo, or the way she’d offered up, “I think you’ll like it,” so tentative and uncertain.

He hadn’t even thought about where it was. On her body. 

Mostly because while he couldn’t help but picture Ginny’s body from time to time over the past two seasons, he knew that reality was going to be way better than anything his brain could cook up. And he knew that, unless he really screwed up, that reality would be all his. If he could be patient.

If he could wait.

He cleared his throat. “Is it infected or something?”

She’d looked at him like he was an idiot, which he undoubtedly was, but it wasn’t as if he knew much about tattoos. “No. It’s—” she broke off, eyeing him intently over the fingers of her glove. “Look, don’t let this go to your head, okay? We still have a game to finish, not to mention the rest of the series—”

“Ginny, just tell me.”

It was her name that did it, Mike still thought. Two years and he could count on two hands the number of times he’d called her that to her face. 

Swallowing, she’d nodded, looking only a little hesitant. Then, her shoulders settled in a straight, strong line, and her chin, behind her glove, tipped up. 

“It’s your number. Thirty-six. Right there. It just keeps hitting me. That this might be the last pitch I ever throw to you and I guess— I just kept checking in on the piece of you I’ve got with me. You’re my rock, Mike. Even when I doubt myself, I don’t doubt you.”

Somehow, Mike had managed to listen to that speech with a straight face, without bursting into a bout of tears. Somehow, he managed not to close the distance between him and Ginny and sweep her into his arms. Somehow, he managed not to kiss her senseless. 

Somehow, he’d managed not to do any of that in the four days since, either. 

No, he’d buckled down and concentrated on leading his team to the ultimate victory in baseball.

And here they were in Game 7, down two to four in the bottom of the ninth. He was just settling into the batter’s box, eyeing Blip trying to lengthen his lead off first while Salvi played it safer on second. There was only one out, but Mike would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least earn an RBI in what could very well be his last major league at bat. 

Those thoughts died away as the umpire called, “Play ball!” and the Red Sox pitcher leaned in for the call. 

For a long, interminable moment, it seemed like the pitch would never come. His hands tightened on his bat, restless. He bounced a little on his back leg, keeping his weight loaded, ready to explode forward, telling himself to send it out of the park. 

Which was why, when the ball finally sailed over the plate, and Mike swung (at the first pitch like a rookie), he nearly spun around with the force of his follow through. He was way too early, sending the drive deep into foul territory. 

He shook it off and settled back into his stance, reaching for the years of plate discipline he’d instilled in himself. That control kept him from swinging three times. Three balls. 

In spite of the count, Mike refused to be walked in his last at bat. He refused to strike out. He refused to do anything other than exactly what he was capable of. 

He chanced a look away from the pitcher, back towards the dugout, and his eyes caught on the only person who really, truly mattered. 

Ginny hadn’t moved from her post at the top of the dugout stairs, and her eyes were trained on him. Unflinchingly, she met his gaze. Like she knew exactly what he was thinking, what he needed out of this plate appearance, she nodded, showing her approval. 

Then, deliberate and sure, she pressed her fingers to her lips and then to that space on her side that he now knew was home forever to his number.

A jolt of certainty shuddered through him. 

They were going to win. All he needed to do was connect bat to ball, and how many times in his life had he done that? 

Just once more. 

Later, Mike would never have a satisfactory answer for what it felt like to hit the game winning home run of Game 7 of the World Series. Memory would come in flashes: his focus zeroing in on the ball as it streaked towards him, the muscles in his back and arms and legs tensing and releasing as he slammed the bat down and away, watching that ball go sailing out, out, out into the San Diego night. 

What he remembered most clearly was rounding third and heading into the home stretch. The roar of the crowd came in pulses, between the thundering beat of his heart. His teammates had already flooded off the bench, and stood surrounding the plate in a riotous, fevered huddle, ready to sweep him onto their shoulders as soon as his cleat touched the plate. And there, in the middle, Blip’s arm stretched across her shoulder and wearing a smile brighter than the stadium lights, was Ginny. 

He ran home to her.

He didn’t scoop her into his arms, but it was a near thing. He hit her and Blip almost equally instead, to remind himself that he couldn’t lay her down on the grass and kiss her, one for every time he thought about doing it. Not only would the media mob be unbearable, it would take far too long. 

Instead, he settled for wrapping one arm around her while the team collapsed in on them. 

As proud as he was of that final homer, honestly? It took more mental fortitude and self-control not to glue himself to Ginny’s side until she gave in and showed off her ink, regardless of whether or not they had an audience. 

After an endless round of media obligations and awards ceremonies and a trophy Mike had dreamed of receiving, but never expected, after the traditional celebrations and group hugs and more than a few tears, Mike finally pointed himself towards the one person he’d wanted to be with all night. 

Most of the guys had already showered and dressed and headed out for any one of the parties the city of San Diego would host in their honor tonight. They’d all clamored for him to get moving, get his ass in gear and come along.

But Mike had to see about a girl.

She hadn’t even bothered to close her door. 

Maybe because she was waiting for him, too.

“You need a hand with that?”

She looked up, champagne dripping from her hair and nose. Her fingers stuttered to a stop on the buttons of her uniform. 

“No,” she replied once she’d recovered from her surprise. Before Mike could laugh in disbelief, a grin bloomed across her face. “Maybe I want one anyway, though.”

He stepped into the room, listening to the door latch shut behind him. He walked towards her, drawn forward by some magnetic pull. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. 

And he really didn’t try. 

Finally, he was close enough to touch her. His fingers gingerly worked the buttons of her uniform from their holes. Why did they seem so much smaller, more delicate, on her jersey than they did on his? Ginny watched him through her thick, dark lashes as each undone button revealed more of her dark undershirt. Her lips parted and Mike was suddenly aware of the fact that he had yet to kiss her. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, one hand cupping her cheek and the other settling against her ribs in a spot that he’d become very familiar with over the past four days.

As natural as breathing, their lips came together.

Mike didn’t think he was overselling it when he thought that this, holding Ginny Baker in his arms as her tongue moved against his, was better than any home run he’d ever hit. Up to and including that last one. 

He could have stayed like that forever. 

Ginny, though, had other plans. 

She tugged her jersey and undershirt out of the waistband of her pants and shrugged the outer layer off, letting it fall to the ground in a damp slap. The undershirt was a little more work since the tight lycra clung wetly to her torso, only reluctantly rolling up her stomach. Mike only got the picture when Ginny tugged insistently on the fabric caught under his hand. Gamely, he helped divest her of the clingy top.

When it was off, he was treated to the sight of Ginny Baker’s smooth, golden skin. 

He was right. Reality was so much better than his imagination.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare, transfixed by the softness of her curves and the solid muscle he knew lay beneath. It wasn’t until Ginny took his hand, which had fallen to his side, and laid it against her flat stomach that he was back in action. In a blink, he eagerly reeled her in, mouth seeking hers again as his hands roamed all the exposed skin he was _finally_ allowed to touch.

She laughed against his lips, sweet and not at all surprised. His tongue swept in and the only sounds for a while were breathy sighs of contentment. 

Much as Mike’s hands roamed, though, across her sides, up and down her arms, around her back, and even over her perfect ass, his right always came back to one spot. One spot that’d kept him intrigued even as he was sure he knew everything there was to know about the woman in his arms. 

“You want to see it?” she breathed. 

Maybe she really could read his mind. Or, maybe, the circling of his fingers over her ribs had given him away.

Wordlessly, he nodded.

“Maybe you should sit down for this, old man,” she teased, though she did press on his shoulder to encourage him into the chair before her cubby. He went down willingly enough, though his fingers did hook into the front of her belt to draw her closer. 

Giggling, she stepped between his knees, angling a bit to the side to give him the best view possible. 

She shifted the band of her sports bra, peeling up the elastic and revealing little navy and yellow numbers to him. A perfect replica of the ones even now on his back.

The sight of them hit Mike square in the chest. Even though he’d known of their existence for the past four days, it wasn’t until he was confronted with concrete proof that it really sank in. Tentatively, he raised just one finger to trace along the familiar figures. 

Over his head, Ginny dragged in a shuddering breath. He dared a look up at her and she was already staring back, her wide brown eyes overtaken by blown out pupils. 

“This is your piece of me, huh?” he smirked, enjoying the goosebumps that broke over her skin. 

“Just while I couldn’t have the rest of you.” 

And what could he say to that? 

He pulled her down into his lap and it didn’t matter that they were both soaked through with sweat and champagne and Gatorade in Mike’s case. All that mattered was that Ginny’s thighs bracketed his and she was smiling at him, flushed with victory and anticipation. 

And she wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

Mike’s hand didn’t move from her ribs, that 36 pressed right against his palm. 

“The guys are probably waiting,” she murmured, right against his mouth. 

“Let ‘em,” he laughed, tightening his hold on her. There was no way either of them were going anywhere for a good, long while. “I’ve been waiting way longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the first chapter was me exploiting my love of Troll!Ginny, this is me exploiting my love of Baseball God!Mike. I'm constitutionally unable to let him fail at baseball. I can't do it to him.
> 
> So what do you think? Under practically any other circumstances, I can see Mike being almost unbearably smug, but the man is dealing with a lot of emotions at this point. He's primed to be knocked on his ass, right?
> 
> (P.S. I'm still writing prompts in exchange for pictures of your postcards/letters to hulu/netflix/not netflix b/c they're dead to me)


	42. just like a ring of fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: it would be greatly appreciated :) Ginny plays a game of "never have I ever" with Evelyn and some of the Padre's WAGS. And learns that one WAG had a fling with Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: no Never Have I Ever, WAGs, jealousy, season 1 fic (between The Break and Alfonzo Guzman-Chavez)
> 
> Chapter Title: June Carter Cash quote, "One morning, about four o'clock, I was driving my car just about as fast as I could. I thought, 'Why am I out on the highway this time of night?' I was miserable, and it all came to me: 'I'm falling in love with somebody I have no right to fall in love with. I can't fall in love with this man, but it's _just like a ring of fire._ '"

“C’mon, Ginny,” Evelyn practically whined. “You have to be in need of some serious girl time. You’ve been cooped up on a bus with just gross boys for too long. I can’t even imagine how that bus smells.”

“Like too much Axe and Drakkar Noir.”

Her friend’s nose wrinkled and Ginny had to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. It was only half true, but she liked how easy it was to gross Evelyn out. 

And it wasn’t as if Ev was wrong. She had been stewing in a lot of testosterone lately. Just, Ev’s alternative didn’t seem much more appealing.

Sensing Ginny’s ambivalence, Evelyn wheedled, “You haven’t even _met_ most of them yet.”

“Do I need to? It’s not like that many of them liked me back in San Antonio or El Paso.”

Evelyn flapped her hand. “That was the minors.”

“You’re telling me the stakes _lower_  for WAGs when y’all hit the big leagues?”

Evelyn, though clearly stumped by that, refused to retreat. 

“Ginny,” she pleaded, doing a remarkable impression of Gabe and Marcus begging for another piggy back ride. “I already told them you’re coming. Don’t turn me into a liar!”

“That sounds like a you problem, Ev,” she replied, cursing the fact that she could already feel herself softening. Evelyn might be immune to guilt, but Ginny was not. Especially not when her friend asked so little of her. 

“What did you want me to say? They were driving me nuts asking about you!”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Asking what exactly?”

The innocent expression on Evelyn’s face could’ve earned an Oscar it was so earnest, but it still didn’t fool Ginny for one second. She waited until Evelyn broke. 

“Ugh, fine!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air for good measure. “There may or may not be a few—just a few!—worries about their husbands and boyfriends suddenly spending all this time with a pretty, single girl.” At Ginny’s outraged look, she hurried to continue, “I tried to tell them there was nothing to worry about—you’re not that cute.”

As intended, Ginny rolled her eyes, some of her annoyance draining away. Some, but nothing close to all. 

“What about my code?” she demanded. “Didn’t you tell them about that?”

“I tried, G,” Ev replied, gentle. “But since you never slept with my husband, despite your many chances, I’m apparently not a trustworthy source. Or I’m trying to keep your options open so you don’t move onto Blip? I’m honestly not sure what the thought process is.”

A few humorless chuckles escaped Ginny’s mouth. “Figures,” she muttered, tugging at her lip in frustration.

“You know why it’s gotta be you. It doesn’t matter what I or Amelia or even your teammates tell them. These women aren’t going to relax until they’ve assessed the threat for themselves.” 

“Threat? Ev, I’m just here to play ball!”

“You know that and I know that, but they don’t. Yet. But you come in and set their minds at ease, tell them how much worse sharing a clubhouse with 24 guys is than sharing a bathroom with your brother growing up, and they’ll realize that you have no interest and chill out.” 

Ginny sighed. Unfair as it was, she really did need the WAGs on her side. The more of them that liked her, the less chance there was of stupid, unfounded rumors spreading. Both around the clubhouse and into the league. The last thing she wanted was TMZ running gossip from “unnamed sources close to the team” about how she was blowing her teammates to make up for blowing a game. 

“Fine,” she agreed, reluctant but willing to admit her friend was right.

“It really won’t be that bad,” Evelyn smiled encouragingly. “Honestly, it’s only a couple who have said anything. And besides, I’ve seen you charm the chaps off a bar full of bikers, Ginny; a few WAGs should be no problem at all.”

She nodded in reply and tried not to think that she’d take that bar of leather-clad bikers any day.

 

* * *

  

They settled on a night that the guys had their own form of bonding. In spite of the fact that Blip, and even Lawson, told her to come along, Ginny declined. Even when Lawson raised one cocky eyebrow and asked, “Why? Hot date?” to goad her into admitting—what? That she planned on going back to her hotel room and pigging out on ice cream sundaes? Or that she really did have a date? 

Sometimes, she just didn’t get him. Which only made her want to know more.

“I guess if you think Evelyn is hot, then yeah,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. 

Mike’s eyes glazed over a bit at the suggestion, his jaw hanging open just wide enough to put his wad of gum on display. Ginny felt a flush crawling up her chest, embarrassed and maybe—just a little—intrigued at what was going through her captain’s mind right then. 

It wasn’t until Blip warned, “Think very carefully about how you answer, man,” that Mike snapped out of the daze. 

“Well, uh,” he practically stuttered, gaze flicking to Blip’s glowering face before it bounced away in a blink. At no point did he look anywhere near Ginny’s direction, but that just made it easier to see his ears burning a dull pink. “Out of all the happily married women in San Diego, you couldn’t do better, Baker.”

“Damn straight,” Blip muttered, though it was hard to make out over the force of Ginny’s guffaws.

God, they were easy.

Both men bore her laughter grumpily, sitting in nearly mirror images of each other at their respective lockers: feet braced against the ground, arms crossed over chests and frowns planted on their faces. Every time she looked at them, the urge to stop laughing died a quick death. Soon, other Padres were glancing over, even chuckling themselves, though Ginny was sure none of them really got the joke. 

Finally, having taken enough abuse, Mike pushed to his feet, rolling his eyes. He wandered off, probably to have Kiki realign his back so he could actually enjoy his boy’s night. 

Ginny watched him go, giggles finally fading away. 

It wasn’t until Blip cleared his throat that Ginny realized she’d been staring. As cooly as she could, she turned her attention to Blip. He watched her with an impassive expression and she did her best not to fidget under the scrutiny.

Finally, he shook his head, spinning back towards his cubby. 

“Tell Ev I’m not bailing her ass out of jail if things get outta control tonight,” was all he said. 

Ginny remained rooted to the spot for a moment, sure he wasn’t going to let her off the hook this easily. But Blip didn’t turn back around and she wasn’t about to look this gift horse in its mouth. 

“Will do,” she replied, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulders and beating a hasty retreat.

 

* * *

  

Slowly, but surely, Ginny was winning over the group of uncertainly suspicious women gathered in the Sanders house. It helped that Evelyn had been right, there really only a few women who’d actually been worried about what her presence on the team meant, maybe three or four out of the twelve Ev had invited. They were pretty easy to single out in the group of happy chatterers. 

However, while Ginny only had to win over a few, they were all curious about her. 

Intensely curious.

“So, Ginny,” smiled one of them. Lauren, she thought, though there was also a Laura somewhere around, too. “How are you settling in? It wasn’t too hard to leave El Paso behind, was it?”

She heard the insinuation behind the words. _Did you leave a boyfriend behind?_  Still, Ginny smiled pleasantly and took a sip of the margarita Evelyn had pushed into her hand as soon as she walked in the door. Not the exact one, of course, this had to be her third. At least. 

“It’s an adjustment,” she replied truthfully. “Not just the city, but getting used to a new team, their weird, gross habits.”

An appreciative laugh went up around the group. 

“I’ve said it before, Ginny, and I’ll say it again,” Evelyn announced, “I don’t know how you put up with all of them at once. God knows I love Blip, but sometimes he’s such a _dude_.”

“It helps that I get my own dressing room, now,” Ginny allowed with a grin. 

“So you don’t—” that was Laura, though she cut herself off with a flush. Ginny knew what was coming next. Hell, Evelyn had asked her this exact question herself. She waited for Laura to get over her embarrassment and finish, “you don’t _see_  anything?”

A few stray giggles went up around the gathering, but Ginny knew they’d all be hanging on her every word. 

This was it. This was where she set their minds at ease. Honestly, she was just relieved it hadn’t taken longer.

“God, no,” she answered, definitive and immediate.

“Never?”

“Not up here,” she replied, knowing that honesty would get her further than trying to seem entirely innocent. “I mean, down in the minors, I barely had a curtained off area to change in, but it’s not like I was looking, you know?”

“I told y’all,” Evelyn said, a little smug. “Ginny’s got a code.”

“Yep. Don’t date ballplayers.”

“Not even once?” That was Sandra, who, if Ginny remembered correctly, was dating Weidner. She couldn’t blame the woman for being a little leery, having seen the third baseman in action. Still, she didn’t have to act like _Ginny_  was the problem. 

“Well, there’s always a reason for a rule,” she hedged, hoping they would leave it alone. 

Thankfully, someone turned to the blonde woman next to Ginny, “That sounds like a rule you should have.”

“What can I say? I have a type!” the blonde—Jamie? Jenny? J-something-y.—giggled. Ginny thought she remembered her waiting for Hanan at the player’s entrance a few times. 

“Baseball player’s not a type, Jessie,” her friend sniffed. “I mean, how far apart can you get between Sam and Mike Lawson?”

“Lawson?” 

The name was out of Ginny’s mouth before she could stop it. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jessie replied with a shrug. “That was in his serious hound dog phase—and before I even met Sam. Believe it or not, he’s gotten way better than he used to be, right after the separation.”

Ginny nodded and was glad when the conversation moved on. 

Mike’s reputation was no secret. Ginny had heard more than enough locker room talk to know that the man was no Boy Scout. And even though she vividly remembered the brunette who dropped him off before her first road trip, she’d never been confronted so… directly with the evidence of Mike's personal life. That was the only reason her stomach turned at this bit of information. That was the reason she felt like her lungs had shrunk, making it so hard to breathe.

It had nothing to do with the fact that when the guys talked about this stuff in the clubhouse, it was always accompanied by jeering and hoots of laughter. It had nothing to do that she could pretend it was all a joke.

It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how it _had_ to be a joke. Ginny didn’t want to consider the alternatives. 

That she was _jealous_  of this woman. For getting that with Mike, even if she hadn’t been smart enough to hold onto him. 

Given half a shot, Ginny wouldn’t make that same mistake.

A buzz in her pocket mercifully pulled her out of those thoughts. When she saw its sender, though, she rethought the meaning of mercy. 

 **Mike**  
_Ivy’s on Vine_

Her heart began galloping along in her chest, just at the sight of his name. (Which she now realized happened every time he called or texted, as had happened with surprising regularity since the All Star Game last week.) And with the slightest provocation, that galloping transformed into a veritable stampede. The memory of his smile. The fact that he was inviting her out again. That he wanted her there.

For a million reasons, Ginny knew this wasn’t her shot. That her shot with Mike, if it ever came, if he ever ended up feeling anything for her, was way down the line. Certainly not within her first season in the majors, and probably not even her second or third, not until Mike was out of the game for good. And who knew how long that would take? 

But none of that stopped her from feeling like maybe, in spite of it all, it could be. 

A flush began to spread up her neck, and sucking down the last of her margarita did nothing to help. If anything, it just made her thoughts swirl faster, spinning right out of her head, out of the house even, and into the night. Zeroed in on one person. 

_Oh, hell._

What had she gotten herself into? 

 

* * *

 

Eventually, after another two or three drinks and dishing out all the best gossip she had, Ginny’d succeeded in winning most of the WAGs to her side. More than a few of them won her over, too. Which was a good thing. She could always use more friends. 

Still, for the back half of the evening, most of her thoughts were occupied by one _friend_ in particular. 

Which was why she didn’t direct her Uber back to the Omni, but rather Ivy’s on Vine. 

She was allowed entrance easily enough, even pausing to take a selfie with the bouncer. 

Like he was North, and her eyes a compass needle, Ginny tracked down Mike within moments of stepping inside. 

He sat at the bar, though he faced out into the room, no doubt surveying his teammates and making sure no one was getting too rowdy. A beer bottle dangled between the fingertips of his free hand while the other arm propped him up. 

In no time, Ginny was slipping onto the stool next to his. She couldn’t quite remember crossing the floor to get there. She knew Mike had seen her, though he waited until she’d ordered a beer of her own to say anything. 

“Girls night packed it in early?” he asked, taking a swig from his bottle.  

“Yeah,” she breathed, unwilling or unable to take her eyes off of him. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d seen his face, it was nearly as familiar as her own, but suddenly it was like she was looking at him with fresh eyes, or, at the very least, through a new lens. With new information she couldn’t deny any longer. The bob of his throat as he swallowed, the way he couldn’t quite keep his head from nodding along to the music, his eyes scanning the crowd, no doubt cataloguing the positions and status of each of their teammates: it was all suddenly so fascinating. 

How hadn’t she really realized before what she was feeling? This was no hero worship, no six-year-old crush. This was far more dangerous than that.

His attention slid back to her and he raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, “I got something on my face?”

It was on the tip of her tongue, this realization. Like it had a mind of its own, she wanted to blurt it out, get it out into the open, hating the way it crowded against her teeth like a mouthful of marbles. Fuck the consequences, she didn’t want to be the only one responsible for this stupid, stupid feeling threatening to detonate her whole life.

Before she could, though, Mike’s eyes slid to the side. Just for a second, but long enough for Ginny to register the way his gaze trailed appreciatively over the pretty redhead making eyes at him from a nearby table. 

By the time he returned his attention to her, Ginny had beaten back the tide of disappointment that had swelled up her throat, into her mouth. At least it washed away the words she’d nearly let spill. 

“Yeah,” she finally replied, fingers curling around her glass, “but I’m pretty sure a razor and some shaving cream will take care of it.”

He shook his head, despairing. “When are you gonna come around on the beard, Baker? This thing kills with the—”

“Okay, ew!” she laughed, hoping the churning of her gut didn’t show on her face. “If you finish that sentence with ‘ladies,’ I’m basically obligated to throw my drink on you.”

Mike laughed, too. “What if I was gonna say ‘fans?’”

“Ugh,” she groaned, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know why, but that’s somehow worse.” 

Her captain just shook his head, cheeks appling under the thick cover of his beard. “Don’t try and pretend you’re not my biggest fan, rookie,” he teased. Ginny froze for a moment, wondering if he somehow _knew_  in spite of the fact that she hadn’t said anything. “I know all about your posters.”

She thawed, chuckling a little nervously. “Oh, it’s _posters_ now? You’re really letting your imagination run wild, aren’t you?”

He nodded absently, but his attention was back on the redhead. She’d moved a table closer, talking to a guy there, but the way she was leaning, that put all of her—very generous—cleavage on display. Pointed right in their direction. Well, in Mike’s direction. 

Ginny swallowed and clambered off her stool. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, just enough confusion in his voice to prod right at the ball of disappointment she’d swallowed down. 

“I’m calling it a night,” she replied, signaling the bartender for her check. As she paid, she couldn’t help but add, “Besides, I think there’s someone who wants your attention more than I do.”

When she finally brought herself to look at him, his eyes were narrowed. Ginny rolled hers and jerked her chin towards the woman, who was now watching them with open interest. 

Lawson frowned, “Baker, I’m—”

“Nah, go on,” she said, unwilling to know how that sentence was going to end. “Make a fan’s night.”

Before he could say anything else, Ginny was walking away. Not once did she give into the impulse to turn back and look. There was no scenario where she’d feel better after looking. Either he’d be wrapped up in that pretty, available woman or he wouldn’t. 

Ginny was fine not knowing. 

She just wished she could go back and not know some other things, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said it on tumblr, but I'll say it here, too: I am fascinated with the timeline of Ginny figuring out her feelings for Mike. I think it's gotta be sometime before ep. 5 because otherwise she wouldn't have been so devastated by finding out about Mike and Amelia. She wouldn't have declined that call if she didn't know, at least a little bit, how disappointed she is that Mike is unavailable. 
> 
> Was this fic my attempt to shoehorn that process of realization into a prompt. 100% it was. But I still like it and would love to hear your thoughts!


	43. makes you feel safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: mike is the little spoon to ginny's big spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: future!fic, established relationship, cuddling, reunion
> 
> Chapter title: Brooklyn Nine-Nine quote, "Everyone likes to be the little spoon, it _makes you feel safe_!"

The house is peacefully still when Ginny walks in the front door, footfalls heavy and echoing in the otherwise silent entry. Her bags drag in her hands, like gravity’s pulling on them just a little bit harder than usual, like it knows exactly how exhausted she is. Happily, gratefully, she drops them by the door along with her shoes. She can deal with them in the morning.

Right now, all she wants to do is crawl into bed and wrap herself up in her comforter and a strong pair of arms.

The quiet is pierced by the chirp of the unarmed alarm system. With a rueful shake of her head, she pushes the door all the way shut and keys in the code to activate it. 

She knows Mike is a big, strong man and there are at least three baseball bats in any given room in the house, but most of those are in display cases and it usually takes him at least two tries to get out of bed if his knees aren’t cooperating in the morning. That’s more than enough opportunity for a robber to get the jump on him. The least he could do is set the alarm when he’s home alone. That’s what it’s there for. After all, how pissed would he be if he came home one night to find she hadn’t set the alarm? 

Ginny can imagine the lecture now, Mike’s bearded face hovering over hers as he shakes her awake, rambling about crime statistics in La Jolla before she’s even fully conscious. 

Her snort splits into a jaw-cracking yawn, which she takes as her cue to get her ass to bed.

Ginny trudges up the stairs, not even bothering to turn on the lights. She knows every nook and cranny in this house, could navigate it in her sleep. It’s a close thing tonight. 

Finally, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, threatening to drop her where she stands, Ginny makes it down the hall to the master suite. She slips inside the dark bedroom, knowing that she should head into the ensuite to shower off the smell of plane and recycled air, but too tired to care. All she can bring herself to do is strip out of her wrinkled zip up and let her leggings fall to the floor, toeing out of her socks at the same time. She’s left in just her underwear, utterly ready to face plant into bed.

Before she does, though, she checks her landing zone, just to make sure Mike hasn’t left his tablet or the reading glasses he thinks she doesn’t know about there. It’s happened before, though every time she brings it up, he fires back the time he had to sleep in a pile of crumbs because she forgot to leave her midnight snacks on the bedside table.

She loves the man, but wishes he’d stop holding that over her head. Anyway, he was the one who’d refused to get out of bed so she could change the sheets.

(The fact that she’d licked every crumb off him, and a few she was sure he made up, only strengthens her stance on the matter.)

There isn’t anything on the comforter, but the lumps underneath make her glad she thought to check.

Firmly planted on her side of the bed, Mike sleeps on, oblivious to her presence in the room. There’s a little frown on his face, only visible in the slight furrow of his eyebrows since his mouth and nose are planted in the pillow he’s got clutched in both burly arms. The presence of both pillows on his usual side of the bed tells her just whose pillow he’s fallen asleep cuddling.

The sight of him there makes her even happier to be home.

Even if it’ll take a few extra steps to finally crawl into bed.

She does her best to slide between the sheets as quietly as possible, though that care is probably undermined by the way she scoots right up next to Mike’s broad, bare back. It feels like forever since she last got to touch him, there’s no way she’s going to hold back now that she can. Not wanting to wake him, though, she settles for draping an arm over his waist and pressing a light kiss to his freckled shoulder. Anything else can wait until morning.

Still, he stirs.

“Gin?” he breathes, hushed and a little dreamy.

“Shh,” she murmurs back, taking the opportunity to press in closer, laying another kiss to his bare skin, “go back to sleep.”

Mike doesn’t listen, rolling so he’s halfway on his back, face tipped towards her, eyes still closed. “Missed you.”

Ginny has to swallow a few times before she can manage, “I missed you more.”

He snorts, blowing the sweet, sleepy intimacy away. One eye cracks open, regarding her with more humor than she’d expect from him at nearly 2 in the morning. “Not everything's a competition, y’know.”

“If it were, I’d win.”

That gets a real laugh and, even better, Mike pressing a kiss to her mouth before rolling back over so Ginny can snuggle into his back. He’d never admit it, but he loves being the little spoon. Nearly as much as Ginny likes being able to hold him against her as tight as she can manage. His hand closes over hers where it rests in the middle of his chest and Ginny presses her face between his shoulder blades.

“Keep telling yourself that, rook,” he mutters, already drifting back to sleep.

Ginny doesn’t reply, just molds herself to Mike’s back, her thighs and shins lining up with his own powerful but slumbering limbs. She revels in the caress of his skin against hers, letting his warmth and the rhythm of his breath drag her under, too. 

Her last conscious thoughts are these: Winning is good. This is so much better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little shorty, but I think it's pretty cute and don't wanna crush it by adding more stuff in. 
> 
> As always, I love to hear what you think!


	44. those who wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Mike and Ginny getting close during spring training and close to opening day one of them has the line, "I can't keep doing this with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Post season 1, banter, relationship negotiation
> 
> Chapter title: Nishan Panwar quote, "Good things come to _those who wait_ , Better things come to those who try."

“Hey, Lawson?”

Mike looked up from slicing tomatoes when Ginny came in, an inquisitive tilt to his head.

She practically skipped through the kitchen, freshly showered and grinning. No question was forthcoming as she slid onto a stool at the island to watch him prep dinner. Most likely, she’d been summoned by the smell of sizzling bacon and wanted to know when food would be ready. There were days that he thought he should regret inviting Ginny—and Blip, who’d declined, and Livan, who hadn’t—to stay in his Arizona house, but he never quite managed to do it. Then of course, she’d do something like grin so openly at him, happy and healthy and on her way to the top, and _regret_ was the least of his worries.

“Back to San Diego next week,” she observed, sneaking a piece of bacon from the paper towel where it was draining and crunching into it. “You excited?”

It hardly mattered whether or not Mike was excited, not with the giddy energy rolling off Ginny. Ever since she’d cemented her spot as a starter again, having made her comeback from last season’s injury, she’d been irrepressible, practically floating everywhere she went. It didn’t dull her competitive edge, but off the field, her enthusiasm and energy were hard to resist.

Well. That was easier to think than the alternative.

(That _she_ was hard to resist.)

“It’ll be good to get back home, get you and Livan outta my hair.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and he laughed automatically. How had she managed to condition him to laugh like that? Maybe because she always smiled, even when she didn’t want to, when he laughed. He’d do worse things for that smile pointed his way.

“Don’t lie, Lawson. You’re gonna miss us.”

“Nope.”

“You will!”

“Will not,” he replied, grabbing a loaf of bread. He shot Ginny a questioning look and she nodded eagerly, just like he knew she would. The woman happened to love his grilled BCTs—bacon, cheese, and tomato sandwich. If anything, she’d be the one missing him. Him and his ability to feed himself and others from more than frozen dinners. 

“You will,” she repeated, firm. “Who else is going to keep you from turning into even more of an old man?”

“Who says I want to stop? Maybe I’m looking forward to getting my live-in nurse. Sponge baths whenever I want ‘em.” 

Her jaw dropped open and she gagged, though Mike was more distracted by the sight of her tongue than he should have been given the circumstances.

“You are disgusting,” Ginny said, but the laugh running through the words told Mike she wasn’t that serious. 

“That’s me,” he agreed, placing both assembled sandwiches on the hot griddle. He looked at the spread of ingredients. “Should I assume wonder boy is feeding himself?”

She nodded. “I think he’s trying to convince that restaurant he found to freeze their food and ship it to San Diego. And probably go home with the owner while he’s at it.”

“Sounds about right,” Mike grumbled. 

Even though there was a guest room in the house set up just for the Cuban catcher, Mike was sure he’d spent more of his nights sleeping somewhere else. Probably with his choice of company, if his habits from last season held true. Mike wasn’t jealous, though. He had all the company he wanted.

Ginny grinned mischievously, but let Mike finish cooking in peace. She collected plates and silverware and a couple beers and waters from the fridge. Everything got set up on the patio table because she loved the unimpeded view of the desert and hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that Mike even had a patio. Between her apartment back in El Paso and the suite that was still hers at the Omni, Ginny hadn’t exactly been rolling in amenities like patios or rain showers or homemade dinners—though the Omni did have a pretty good room service menu.

She came back to the kitchen to start tossing together a salad. It was the one culinary undertaking that Mike allowed her, and only because it involved “nothing that could set the house on fire.” Ginny was the first to admit that she wasn’t the most skilled cook, but even she had yet to actually burn a house down. Set off the smoke detectors, sure, but she’d wanted her burger well done, anyway.

In companionable silence, having completed this ritual nearly every night of the past six weeks, they finished cooking. Well, Mike cooked and Ginny assembled.

The salad was done just as Mike lifted the warm, crisp grilled cheeses from the griddle and laid them on a platter.

“Outside again?” he double checked, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. Ginny always ate outside. 

She nodded anyway, leading the way with her creation and Mike following along with his.

Once they were settled in, tucking into dinner, they allowed themselves to start talking. Go over their day together. Mike tried to tell himself that it wasn’t all disgustingly domestic, and he even believed it. If only because there wasn’t a single part of him that was disgusted by this.

“How’s your arm feeling? This was the closest Skip’s let you get to your pitch count, wasn’t it?”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m a little sore, but made sure to check in with the trainer after the game. Nothing felt wrong, not like it used to, at least.”

Mike frowned, though he took a bite of the sandwich to keep from saying anything. Apparently, he’d become something of a mother hen since sharing a house with Ginny. He thought it was only natural, having never shared space with an injured athlete who wasn’t himself; of course he was going to make sure she was taking care of her self. Ginny, though, thought it was overbearing.

Still, she grinned, a little indulgent, and said, “If it’s still bad after my massage and flush run tomorrow, you can be the one to tell Skip off.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was definitely gonna hold her to that.

“Yeah, yeah, rookie,” he replied, “I’m a—”

“You know you’re gonna have to come up with a new nick name for me soon, right?”

“How do you figure?”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”

The response that he wanted to give, unthinkingly, was that she’d always be his rookie, but that felt dangerous or condescending. Or both. Instead, he frowned in consideration.

“I’ll tell the guys to get on it,” he finally replied, knowing he’d do no such thing.

“Isn’t that your job? As captain.”

“Nah, I’m big picture. Getting the final say in kangaroo court, delivering inspirational speeches in the eleventh hour, deciding when to let Voorhies drag us all to a karaoke bar. That kinda stuff.”

She grinned, her dimples popping in the fading light. “Karaoke bars? How haven’t I heard about this?”

“It happens very rarely. And only when I’m in a really good mood.”

“So never, then.”

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not often enough to hear Dusty tell it.”

“And me,” she declared, polishing off the last of her sandwich. “I am amazing at karaoke.”

Mike snorted and Ginny’s jaw dropped in outrage.

“I am! I bring the house down, Lawson!”

“Baker, if your humming is any indicator, you couldn’t carry a tune if you had a bucket.”

She let out a disbelieving little huff of laughter. “That’s rude. You’re _rude_.”

“You’re just figuring that out now?” he grinned.

Ginny just rolled her eyes and she tried to remember if she’d done that quite so often before meeting Mike, or if his habits were just rubbing off on her. It was hard to tell.

They finished the rest of their dinner as the sun slowly sank into the western horizon.

Ginny allowed herself to bask in the dying glow for a moment, but the restlessness that had defined most of her life caught up with her. It always caught up with her.

“Shoot some hoops?” she asked, nodding out to the detached garage and the lone basketball hoop a previous owner had installed. 

Mike nodded, pushing himself to his feet. Technically—contractually—they weren’t allowed to play basketball. Not a real game, anyway. Not that Ginny would put up much of a fight in a one on one game. She was scrappy and naturally athletic, but too much of her childhood had been focused on baseball. Mike doubted that she’d ever picked up a basketball outside of gym class (and ill-advised poolside dunk contests) before this February.

So, they’d contented themselves with games of PIG and then HORSE and finally HIPPOPOTAMUS when Ginny complained the games were too short. For someone whose entire job was throwing a small ball at a small target, she really sucked at getting a larger ball to a larger target.

But it wasn’t like Mike was going to pass up on spending time with her.

Especially not if he got to tease her mercilessly while he did it. It was so much easier to pretend they were just regular friends when he got to tease her. When they were both laughing, trading insults and trying to get the other to miss.

But when Ginny made a shot Mike had been sure she’d miss—an over the shoulder hook shot with her left hand—and she lit up, practically throwing herself into his arms with glee; when he could feel every inch of her toned, perfect body pressed up against his; when her breath ghosted, tantalizing and warm against his neck—

Well, it was much harder to pretend, then.

Mike’s heart thudded heavily against his rib cage. His arms had wrapped around her on instinct, tight enough that his hands gripped her waist. There wasn’t a single cell of him that wanted to let her go. No, he wanted to take his face from where it was buried in her hair, wait for her to look up at him, and finally find out what it would be like to kiss Ginny Baker.

But he couldn’t.

So, he convinced himself to release her, to take a step—a tiny shift of his weight, really—back.

She did look up at him, eyes wide, and lips so close to parting.

“Ginny, I can’t keep doing this with you,” he sighed, his breath gusting against her cheek. 

For a moment, the world froze. Ginny couldn’t move, couldn’t complete the circuit by collapsing back into Mike and couldn’t step away to avoid overloading it. She was stuck in the middle ground, hovering too close for comfort, but too far away for it, too.

“I can’t keep having these almosts with you,” he said, more raw than she’d heard him in a long time. “Because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make myself stop next time.”

The world thawed. Her heart began beating a jackrabbit’s rhythm against her ribs. But before she could capture his hand or his face or _anything_ , he backed away, hands clenched into fists at his side.

“I mean, you have a code. That’s fine, I— I get it. You’ve already had your exception.”

She started towards him at that, mouth open to say— _something_ , but he barreled on.

“But I don’t want to be something that you come to regret. Not like he was.”

Ginny didn’t say that _not_ acting on whatever this thing between them was might be more regrettable than the alternative, but she thought it. Just as she thought it every time they brushed up against the implications of that almost outside Boardner’s. Which had been happening more and more frequently over the past six weeks.

Apparently, Mike had noticed, too.

Still, she couldn’t let him go on thinking—

“It wouldn’t be you,” she blurted. He rocked back, confusion and more than a little hurt flashing across his face. That was worse. Immediately, Ginny let the words tumble out of her mouth, anything to make him look less wounded. “If I ever regretted something happening between us, it wouldn’t be that it was _you_. It would be letting it happen too soon or getting caught and all the bullshit we’d manage to stir up. But not you, Mike. Never you.”

Well, he definitely didn’t look wounded anymore. Ginny couldn’t quite identify the look on his face, not before he was sweeping her up into his arms, practically spinning them around.

She half gasped, half laughed, burying her face in his throat as her arms wound around his neck.

When he’d finally set her back on her feet, arms still wrapped tightly around her, he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head.

Quietly, but still certain, he murmured, “I can wait.”

“Really,” she rasped, just enough disbelief in her tone to make him laugh.

“I’m not good at it,” he clarified, pulling away to look her in the eye, “but I can.”

Ginny believed him.

But if she remained cradled so securely in his arms for one more minute, she wasn’t sure _she_ could wait. Reluctantly, she pulled away, her hands trailing across his neck and shoulders and chest before she finally disengaged.

“So what are we, then? While we wait. Friends?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not that I don’t want to be your friend, that I’m not your friend already, but I don’t know if I can keep myself from wanting to be _more,_ too.”

“You’re not the only one who wants more, you know,” she replied, dry as the desert surrounding them. 

“Well, as long as we’re on the same page.”

“Same page, old man,” Ginny affirmed, wanting to reach out and touch him again, but even the small taste she’d already gotten told her that was a dangerous path to tread.

Instead, she stuck out her hand.

Mike eyed her hand for a long moment before letting his gaze trail up to hers.

“Really?”

“C’mon, Lawson. Just shake on it.”

“What am I even shaking on?” he protested. “Waiting? ‘Til when?”

“We’ll know,” she replied, sounding more confident than she felt. At least her hand didn’t quiver, hanging in the air the way it did. 

Mike took one more long look at her before finally clasping his (big, warm, callused) hand in hers and shaking to seal the deal. For a moment, neither released the other, their breath shuddering as Mike’s thumb caressed the back of her hand and her fingertips curled against his palm.

Finally, though, he offered her a single nod and pulled away.

Ginny nodded back, resisting the urge to curl her hand against her heart, hold the warmth of his grip against her as long as it was fresh in her memory.

Almost in sync, they both loosed gusty sighs, trading nearly shy smiles.

“Back inside?” he asked, calling attention to the falling dusk, the first stars beginning to twinkle into view overhead. 

Ginny agreed easily enough, following him back to the patio to clean up the remnants of their dinner before heading into the kitchen. As they washed dishes side by side, their newfound understanding settled easily between them. It—and the feelings it involved—wasn’t exactly new even if giving voice to them was.

She still blew soap bubbles at him and he still flicked her with the dish towel, the same easy banter that they’d developed filling the air.

They were still Ginny and Mike.

Neither pretended it was anything other than a relief, trading brief, grateful grins.

If this was how waiting was going to be, then maybe it wouldn’t be quite so bad.

 

* * *

It took longer than either of them would’ve liked, with maybe more tension than either would’ve guessed, too, but eventually, the day came.

The day they both knew.

Ginny grinned at Mike and he was already grinning back.

“You ready for this?”

“Been ready for a long time.”

“Good.”

And that didn’t even begin to describe what they were together.

No. That was was nothing short of perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't bring myself to go full on angst with this guy. Not when I've got the follow up to forgetting is so long on deck. And hopefully no one is surprised by the fact that I love domestic!Bawson, particularly pre-relationship. 
> 
> I also know I'm not the first (nor hopefully the last) to write Mike shares his house with Ginny (+ others) during spring training, but I love that trope, too. 
> 
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts! Feedback, concrit, keysmashes, whatever!


	45. my soul is not satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (slightly) less angsty follow up to "[forgetting is so long](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21593480)" which everyone and their mother requested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: cursing/language, angst with a happy ending, future!fic, Ginny's second season
> 
> chapter title: "[Tonight I Can Write](http://boppin.com/poets/neruda.html)" by Pablo Neruda

**April**

 

Heads hung and feet shuffled as the San Diego Padres trudged back into the clubhouse after yet another crushing defeat. Captain Mike Lawson brought up the rear.

The team was enjoying a miserable start to the regular season and morale was at an all time low. 

Mike would have to be an idiot not to know he was partially (mostly) responsible for the latter and that the latter had definitely affected the former. While he was definitely an idiot about many things, baseball typically wasn’t one of them.

He’d been at a loss when they first started down this losing streak and, seven games later, still couldn’t quite figure out what to say to pull the team out of its funk. Not when he was in such a rut of his own and had been since the end of Spring Training.

In retrospect, it was something of a miracle that they’d had an okay run in Arizona, coming out of the Cactus League with more wins than losses and a solid 25-man roster. 

Well, 24-man-and-1-woman roster.

Which was his whole problem, wasn’t it? Or at least the lion’s share of it.

(Not that a woman was involved, just which particular woman it was.)

He would’ve killed, or at least done some morally objectionable things, for the chance to lick his wounds in private and not be confronted with Baker’s wounded/confused face everywhere he turned, but Mike’d missed out on making it as an assassin a long time ago. So, he just had to stew in this seething mire of disappointment and jealousy and anger that he knew was entirely irrational. All while having to share a clubhouse and a dugout and what felt like his entire goddamn _life_  with the woman.

(Mike was well aware that it was only his bruised pride that made him wish, even for a moment, that Oscar and Al had decided to send her back down until her arm was back at 100%. But that hadn’t stopped him from thinking it.  

He’d always known he was an asshole, but that thought killed any hope of being the kind of asshole people liked in spite of themselves.)  

“We’ll get ‘em next time,” he said, half-hearted.

Only a few guys nodded back, the rest moodily starting to undress so they could hit the showers. 

Instinctively, he glanced around, hoping _someone_  would look at him, give him a nod that said, “I got your back.” If he was being honest, he even knew who he wanted that person to be, in spite of everything. 

Ginny’d already disappeared into her changing room.

It wasn’t another fucking punch to the gut. 

Not at all.

Later, shivering in his ice bath, he came to terms with a few things. 

1) This was his last season of professional baseball. He’d announced it to the team in Arizona, but hadn’t yet let his agent make a statement to the press. It still didn’t always feel real. 

2) It didn’t matter what fucking shakeups the Front Office went through, Mike was leaving the game a Padre. He would die in this uniform if it came to that.

3) He didn’t want to go out on a low note. Which was going to be something of an uphill battle the way his season was going. It may have been years since he tasted late October air on the field, but he had also never played a first month as bad as this one.

And: 

4) Christ. He was going to have to do something, wasn’t he? For at least the next five months, he was still captain of the Padres. Which meant it was his responsibility to pull his head out of his ass, stop being such a moody son of a bitch, and get the team back on track.

Which.

Mike would love to say that he was being a moody asshole for reasons that had nothing to do with his favorite pitcher, but that would be a god damn lie. 

(And, Christ. Yes, he had a fucking favorite, okay?)

Even if very little remained of what’d made her his favorite in the first place. Ginny didn’t tease or prod or joke, hardly even made eye contact anymore. When he caught for her—only once of her three regular season starts so far—she followed his calls without fail, remained silent any time he decided to make a visit to the mound, her eyes cast to the ground. Mike could feel her cringe away any time he stepped too close and every single fucking time, it made his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

Not that he didn’t deserve it because— Honestly, he still couldn’t believe it sometimes.

He’d kissed her. 

Drunk and bitter about Rachel leaving him again, he’d kissed her. Probably more than a little bitter about the smiles Ginny was offering to other guys, he’d kissed her. 

Guys she didn’t even know. Who didn’t deserve one shred of her attention. (Not that Mike could relate to that. At all.)

So he’d started needling her because if there was one thing Ginny Baker couldn’t do, it was resist taking the bait.

The whole process of getting from Ginny stomping up to him in the bar, fire in her eyes, to having her sandwiched between the building and his body was still a little fuzzy, even weeks later. Why wouldn’t it be when he couldn’t get the hitch of her breath into his mouth out of his head? Or the way she’d been pressed so sweetly against him, her warmth seeking his?

Mike wanted to live in those few minutes he’d had her in his arms. 

Right up until Ginny flat out told him kissing him was a mistake.

Which shouldn’t have come as such a fucking shock. Honestly, what else had he expected? That she’d be thrilled to make out with some has-been who’d been nothing but awful to her the past few weeks?

It didn’t matter what he’d thought as she sighed into his mouth: that the silver lining of being told it’d take a miracle for him to walk—not crawl or be carried—off the field if he tried for more than this last season had been Ginny and her perfect fucking smile and the way she made him feel. Had been the idea that they could maybe get over the bullshit he’d thrown in their way because that was what he did best. Had been the thought that they might actually make each other happy for all they were viciously effective at the opposite. 

It didn’t matter because Ginny didn’t want that. 

She didn’t want him. 

And that was fine. It had to be fine, even when the sudden memory of that fact sometimes made his knees want to give out more than any stress or strain from playing ever had.

Mike could be the grown up here, not that he’d done much to prove it lately. If it meant going out as a respected and valued member of his team and not the morale-killer he currently was, he could do a lot. Even if that meant locking up the mangled heart that was left to him and pretending he was doing just fine. 

That didn’t mean it wasn’t going to hurt like a motherfucker, though.

So, sitting in a metal tub, freezing his balls off as chunks of ice slowly melted around him, Mike Lawson came to terms with a few things. He came to terms with them and groaned out the one word that adequately encapsulated his situation.

“Fuck."

 

* * *

**May**

 

“Well, Mike,” Oscar said doubtfully, already reaching for the phone in his pocket, “if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“It is,” he affirmed with a frown. 

Oscar just sighed and excused himself. No doubt to cancel some event in Mike’s honor he’d already put into motion. Mike didn’t even feel that bad. It wasn’t like the GM had asked him beforehand. Then again, Oscar’s track record with actually asking things of Mike wasn’t too hot, either. 

Both Mike and Al watched the man go, but while Mike’s attention remained on the door and clubhouse beyond, the older man’s shifted. Having played for the man for so long, Mike didn’t need to look to confirm Al’s speculative frown. 

And if he didn’t see it, maybe he didn’t have to acknowledge it either.

Roughly, he shoved to his feet. “We done here?” 

He kept his body angled towards the door, though the heavy sigh that preceded Al’s words painted a picture all on its own. Mike may have gotten used to being a disappointment, but it never stopped stinging.

“I suppose so, Mike.”

Without a backwards glance, he walked out of Skip’s office, shoulders tense. He was probably undoing all the work Kiki’d already put into his back today, but he didn’t give a shit. 

He’d just had the worst conversation of his life, and his wife had once told him in excruciating detail exactly why she was leaving him for the pediatric heart surgeon, so he knew bad conversations when he had them.

Suffice it to say, Mike should’ve known going in just how bad it would get. Especially since it was called at the President of Baseball Operation’s request. 

Well. 

Charlie Graham could go fuck himself. Mike didn’t owe that guy a thing, especially when he didn’t even bother to show up to the meeting he’d wanted in the first place. Al, and even Oscar, though, he owed it to them to try and work out a game plan, an exit strategy, even if he was against 95% of what it entailed. 

Mike Lawson’s Goodbye Season. Tickets on sale now.

He snorted, derisive.

He may be retiring at the end of the year, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He didn’t want the farewell tour or the tributes or the weird fucking gifts from teams he’d spent his career trying to grind into the dirt. All Mike wanted was to play his last season and then disappear into the sunset. Or maybe something marginally less dramatic, but it wasn’t like he fucking knew what he wanted.

(Well, of the things he could _have_ , he didn’t know what he wanted.)

Like the universe heard him and hated him, a bright, distinctive laugh rang through the clubhouse. 

Almost instinctually, Mike turned towards it. A few bad months weren’t enough to erase his reaction to that sound.

Standing in the opening to the round locker room, Mike had a clear view of the whole team. Most everyone was dressed already. With only forty-five minutes to game time, they’d better be. 

But where some guys were hunched in their chairs, headphones on, trying to get into game mode, others took a more laid back approach. 

And though Mike never thought he’d live to see the day, Ginny Baker was one of the latter. 

She lolled in one of the chairs, leg hooked over the armrest, other foot idly spinning the seat back and forth. True, she wasn’t pitching today, and true, she’d already put in her work with her trainers, but it was still strange to see her so relaxed in the clubhouse. Mike tried to rack his memory, recall if he’d ever seen her quite so boneless and content, even when they were at their best, but he came up empty. 

Adding insult to injury was who exactly had her so relaxed. 

Sprawled on one of the couches nearby, Blip grinned, face lit up with what must have been a good joke. Not that Mike had heard many of Blip’s jokes lately. 

While he’d made good inroads with most of the team, bankrolling post-game celebrations and even letting that pack of animals throw a party at his house, there were still some holdouts. 

Blip was the one who hurt the most. 

It sucked that Salvi and Voorhies still weren’t completely sold on Mike’s new attitude—like it didn’t matter that the Padres had clawed their way up from the bottom of the National League in the past few weeks, settling in for a slog to the top if Mike had anything to say about it—but Mike would get over it. They weren’t his best friends. 

That was Blip. 

(That had been Ginny.) 

So, looking at the man who’d been his closest friend for the past four years joking around with Ginny, that stung. 

Not as much as it stung that the third member of their little club was the guy who’d been signed to replace him, though. 

Mike couldn’t care less that Livan was still a little shit who delighted in needling his captain, lording every start over his head like it was another nail in Mike Lawson’s coffin. On a certain level, Mike couldn’t fault him. 

On almost every other level, though...

Bitter barbs of jealousy roiled in his gut. That and the knowledge that he was going to give up the one thing in the world he was good at in the not too distant future. He hadn’t been good at being married or being a son. He’d never done well in school, and his phase two was a bust before he’d even gotten to it. The one thing that Mike had ever loved and managed to keep in his life was baseball and every day/hour/minute/second that ticked by, he could feel it slipping from his grasp. 

All while that fucker was just getting started. 

(To make matters worse, he was just getting started with Ginny.)

Mike would give it up and Livan would take his place. Had already taken his place from the looks of it. 

But where a month or even a few weeks ago Mike would have let all that vitriol spew forth, today he kept it in check. He didn’t interrupt the meeting of the new Best Friends Club, no matter how much he might like to. He stepped into the room, and though he didn’t do anything to temper the thunderous frown on his face, he kept quiet. He didn’t need to look to know that Ginny’s eyes followed him, wary, or that her shoulders crept closer to her ears, waiting for whatever bullshit he was going to throw her way. 

And it _was_ bullshit. 

Mike had known that the minute he started needling her back in Arizona. He was jealous, even though he had Rachel and wanted so desperately to be happy with her. At the beginning, the first day of training, he hadn’t even let himself _look_  at Ginny, too afraid that one glimpse of her would remind him why he found it so hard to just want the woman he’d married. 

Too soon, though, it wasn’t about Rachel at all. It was all about Ginny. Ginny’s laugh and Ginny’s smile. Ginny teasing Livan the way she’d used to tease Mike. 

He’d reacted like a child, jealous of a new sibling getting more attention and desperate to get some back. Mike knew that now and wasn’t proud of it. 

Not that it made much of a difference.

So, determined to show that he was trying to be better—for the team and the fans and even Ginny herself—Mike breathed through the ugly feelings clawing up his throat. He shoved them down into the pit of his stomach where he stored all the shit he didn’t like dealing with—his mom, his dad, his imminent retirement, Rachel, Ginny, the likelihood that he would spend the rest of his life alone...

The list went on.

What was one more item? 

Blowing out a controlled breath, Mike let go of it all. Everything but baseball and the game he wanted, needed, to win was gone. 

Was it healthy? Fuck no. He wasn’t even sure it was sustainable, but Mike was going to hold onto the one thing left to him while he still had it. 

Everything else was gone already. 

Without thinking about it, Mike’s gear bag was slung over his shoulder and he was headed for the dugout, walking away from his friend, his replacement, and his pitcher without a word.

 

* * *

**June**

 

It was too much to ask that no one had noticed the gaping chasm between captain Mike Lawson and not-rookie Ginny Baker. But where that kind of distance could maybe be explained away during Spring Training with all the extra players in the mix, during the regular season, it was glaringly obvious. And not just to over-invested fans with a blog and a Twitter account. 

No, this was now being discussed on the Whip Around and SportsCenter. Discussed and analyzed, though thankfully no one managed to hit on the underlying cause of it.

(Bad enough that his team, fans, and sports journalists were all speculating about the apparent feud with his pitcher, it would be fucking mortifying if they knew it was all because he’d been such an asshole that he made the mistake of kissing her; of being deluded enough to think she wanted him to kiss her.)

If he’d bothered to ask, well, _anyone_ , Mike would’ve learned that the consensus was that a blow up was long overdue.

Of course, Mike didn’t bother to ask questions he didn’t want the answer to. Particularly when he was privy to information that would definitely affect that consensus. Namely, that there’d already been a blow up. 

But maybe a second one was past due. 

Because while Mike had managed to keep his goddamn mouth shut every time some asshole comment wanted to break free, things between him and Ginny hadn’t improved. Ginny still shied away from any interaction with Mike and Mike still went stony and reticent whenever someone brought her up. Arguably, it was an improvement over where they’d been in the middle of spring training, but that wasn’t saying much. 

They needed to clear the air. 

Unfortunately, all Mike knew about clearing the air was throwing dynamite at the problem, ducking for cover, and waiting for the dust to settle. Hence the second blow up. 

Was it so wrong, though, that he didn’t want to do that again? Not that he’d approach this one anything other than 100% sober and 80% apologetic. No encroaching on personal space or saying things that he hadn’t gone over at least twice in his head first. Not that any of that meant all that much considering how easily Ginny’s mere presence seemed to eat away at his self control.

Mike told himself that it wasn’t like Ginny was entirely innocent. She’d thrown too many barbs of her own back in Arizona to claim that.

Somehow, it never made him feel better.

Still, it didn’t really matter how he felt, not when the bullshit between him and Baker was now officially a distraction to the team. (He hadn’t missed the muttering or the too-quick channel changes on clubhouse TVs any time he entered the room. He also hadn’t missed the fact that they’d lost three of their last five games. Games where they should’ve at least put up a decent showing rather than doing their best Bad News Bears impressions—before Matthau whipped them all into shape. They were on a slippery slope back to where they’d been at the beginning of the season.)

Which was why Mike cornered Ginny in the trainer’s room. 

Usually, she came in, got her arm wrap, and went back to her cubby to ice in peace. Not today, though. 

Mike jerked his head at the intern on duty, who was slower to get out than anyone would’ve been last season. The wary glance between pitcher and catcher told Mike exactly why. Still, the kid left without saying anything, pulling the door closed behind him.

He sighed. 

Ginny just shifted her weight between her feet, the only tell as to how uncomfortable she was right now. Otherwise, she was inscrutable. She stared at him with that carefully blank face, the Baker Bot out in full force. 

Mike fucking hated it. She couldn’t do him the decency of giving him _something?_  Anger or hurt or sadness? Hell, he’d even take hatred at this point, even though he knew the sight of Ginny Baker’s unadulterated loathing directed at him would probably shred his heart. 

Whatever was left of it, anyway.

“I—” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what,” she returned, flat. 

Clearly, it wasn’t a brush off of his apology. She wanted specifics.

“For the way I’ve treated you. In Arizona. And before that even. There was a lot of other shit going on”—he and Rachel trying and mostly failing to make it work, the three separate sports therapists he’d seen in an effort to get one to tell him he wasn’t falling apart at the seams, not to mention the feelings that he allowed to implode—”and I took my frustration with that out on you, which wasn’t fair.”

She snorted and Mike had to remind himself that she was well within her right to be pissed. She was well within her right to tell him to fuck off and go straight to Deadspin about what a misogynistic asshole Mike Lawson was.

“Not fair? You think that’s the problem here?” she scoffed, cradling her right arm against her stomach like it was still too weak to hang on its own. It didn’t seem to cut her anger any, though. Ginny barreled on, letting loose some of her frustrations. They’d clearly been bottled up. “If I waited around for fair, I’d still be stuck in Tarboro, wishing someone would give me a chance. Don’t tell me you’re sorry because you weren’t being _fair_.”

He blew out a breath through his nose, arms coming up to cross over his chest. “Well, why don’t you tell me what I should be apologizing for, then.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mike remembered the last time he said something similar. Probably a good idea not to think about his wife leaving him right now, though. 

Ginny just stared at him. Like she couldn’t quite believe what had just come out of his mouth. Mike stared back. Her mouth hardened, jaw clenching. 

“Fine. You should just apologize for being a dick. Not for being unfair. Because while it was and I still have no idea what the hell was wrong with you all of spring training, I’m used to unfair. I wasn’t used to you being such a fucking bully.”

He winced at the past tense. She hadn’t been used to it, but now she was.

At the same time, she didn’t ask for an apology for the kiss. Mike wasn’t sure if she just wanted to forget it even happened or didn’t want to push her luck. 

“I am sorry, Baker,” he said, looking her right in the eyes. Christ, he couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had this kind of eye contact. One of them was always looking away. Usually Ginny. “For all of it. You didn’t deserve any of my bullshit and the fact that you’re still willing to play on the same field as me, let alone for the same team, is a fucking miracle.”

He watched her lips quiver, like she wanted to smile, but wouldn’t let herself.

Mike pushed on. “I don’t need you to forgive me right away. I know it’s gonna take time, but I don’t have that much left. Not with the team, anyway. And the team needs to present a united front if we wanna make a run at a pennant this year. We need to be on the same side.”

Ginny’s eyes dropped from his, uncertainty clouding her face. 

Shit! He’d been so close. Mike scrambled for something, anything, to set her mind at ease, but Ginny deflated, nearly curling in on herself protectively. Doing her best to keep him out of her space. 

Her space. 

Jesus, how hadn’t he figured? 

“‘M not gonna kiss you again,” he murmured, voice low to keep the busybodies no doubt eavesdropping in the hall from overhearing. What was it about a closed door that invited such curiosity from a bunch of grown men? He didn’t mind them hearing everything else, but this was between him and her. Ginny’s gaze cut straight back to his, surprise etched over her features. He guessed it was something of a surprise that he could still read her so well. “So can we just go back to being teammates?”

Of course, that assumed they’d ever been just teammates, but Mike couldn’t take walking around with this pit of bile swirling inside him anymore; it was eating away at him. And he definitely couldn’t take ESPN talking about it like it was news worth sharing.

“You’re not?” she asked, brow wrinkled in what had to be suspicion, lips tugged into a contemplative frown.

“No,” he replied, even though it killed him that he’d never know what it was like to kiss her when she actually wanted him to. “Learned my lesson.”

Ginny was still frowning as she nodded, slow and more than a little unsure. “Teammates,” she finally agreed, her tone guarded.

Mike didn’t care. 

It was better than what he’d had to start the day.

 

* * *

**July**

 

It was no surprise that Ginny was selected to her second All Star squad in her second season. Even though the Padres had toiled to pull themselves out of the hole they’d dug at the beginning of the season, Ginny’d had mostly solid starts from the beginning, her ERA significantly lower than what it’d been this time last year. 

What was the surprise, though, was the fact that Mike was also selected. To both the squad and the Home Run Derby team. 

(What could he say? Facing down retirement and the antipathy if not outright hostility of his teammates had lit a fire under his ass.)

Upon hearing the news, Mike texted Ginny: _Congrats, All Star. Drinks? I’m buying._

When his phone started buzzing in his hand, before he even got a chance to slide it back into his pocket, Mike took a second to stare at the “Ginny Baker” displayed on the screen. 

The past month, he had put a lot of effort into being teammates and friends—just friends—with Ginny. He was constantly aware of the need to check himself, keep from falling even deeper into his feelings for her. If he was also aware of how different this all was from last season, Mike figured that was the difference between knowing he’d caught feelings and being blindsided by them.

But he wanted her friendship, the easy camaraderie they’d once had, almost more than he wanted to kiss her again. And Mike fucking dreamed about kissing Ginny again. He knew that wasn’t happening, though.

Friends it was.

So, they’d chatted a few times on the phone, about easy things, like Mike coming in late to the clubhouse or the new and unique Ginnsanity posters he’d managed to pick out during a game. Nothing like their late night talks from last season, though, where conversation flowed so easily, a natural extension of their rapport on the field. (If he lived in hope that some day they’d make it back there, Mike played that pretty close to the chest.)

He accepted the call. 

“What’s on your mind, Baker?” he drawled, spinning his keyring around his finger as he walked out the door. If she didn’t want to get drinks, she would’ve just texted him that. There was something else weighing on her.

“Drinks are good,” she started, only a little hesitant. Still, Mike could practically picture her pacing her room, tugging on her lip the way she did when she considered a problem. But then the reason for that hesitance became clear when she asked, “Just us?”

Every so often, they ran up against the slowly healing wounds of their past and things got a little awkward. Neither was all that eager to verbalize any more of their feelings, which made those awkward patches even harder to navigate.

"There another All Star on the team I’m unaware of?”

The silence before she replied, “No,” was longer than the question probably deserved.

Mike sighed. “Listen. Why don’t you save whatever’s eating at you for when I can look you in the eye and tell you you’re overthinking this, okay?”

Ginny huffed but didn’t disagree. “I pick the place, though,” she bargained, needing to win _something_  in this conversation.

“Yeah, fine. Send me the address.”

When Mike walked into the shitty dive bar all the fucking way in El Cajon—which, he really did not want to know who’d been bringing Ginny Baker to shitty dives in El Cajon—he realized he maybe should have questioned why she wanted to meet here before this. 

Because it was pretty clear from the number of empties surrounding her, Ginny’d been here awhile. Since before he’d even sent her the message, probably.

Still, Mike made his way over to her seat at the bar, the soles of his boots sticking unpleasantly to the floor, and sat beside her. Ginny didn’t look up from where she was glowering ferociously at her mostly empty bottle of beer. 

“Who pissed in your corn flakes?” Mike asked, signaling the bartender for another round. He wasn’t starting tomorrow and neither was she, so he didn’t see the harm. Besides, it was rare enough to see Ginny so visibly and obviously bent out of shape. She deserved a little indulgence when it happened.

“Me.”

“That seems avoidable,” he observed easily. It wasn’t that he thought he could cajole her out of her bad mood, but it wasn’t like it’d hurt to try. 

Ginny turned to face him, eyes remarkably clear for the amount of beer she’d put away. Then again, there was also probably a Double-Double and fries in her stomach, soaking up most of the alcohol. The woman couldn’t resist her burgers.

“I’m a fraud,” she said plainly.

Equally plain, and vividly recalling the last time he had this conversation with her, he replied, “You’re not a fraud.”

“I feel like one.”

“Well, I feel like I’ve got another two years left in my knees, but that doesn’t make it true.”

Ginny’s lips pursed in a little pout, so Mike looked away. Thankfully, the bartender chose that moment to return with their drinks, so it even seemed natural. 

“I shouldn’t be an All Star,” she tried again. “I’ve got the worst ERA in the lineup—”

“You’re like a run and a half off—”

“—and there’s no way this isn’t just another publicity stunt by the league. I wonder what hashtag they used this year.”

Mike wasn’t used to Ginny sounding quite so bitter. That was his thing. Even when they’d been at each other’s throats, she’d mostly reacted, lashing out because he pushed and prodded until she had to. Well, if she’d learned it from him, she couldn’t ask for a better teacher.

Still, it wasn’t a good look on her.

Turning on his stool, Mike did his best to reassure her. “That’s not—”

“Please,” she spat, cutting him off. “I know I’m just Eddie Gaedel around here.”

_Well, at least she’s given up the martyr routine._

Mike didn’t wince at the thought, but he was glad he’d managed to keep it stuffed behind his teeth. That was the kind of shit that got him here in the first place. Those jabs were coming less frequently, now, as they navigated their way slowly towards a tentative friendship, but Mike was all too aware that one poorly timed joke or backhanded compliment could unravel the fragile truce they’d built.

He did wince wondering if she’d somehow heard what he’d said about her that first start, more than a year ago. He doubted anyone’d blabbed to her, but it was so specific. Pushing down the guilt, he eyed her, wondering if this self-doubt was always simmering beneath the surface of Ginny Baker. She was so good at hiding it most of the time.

“You’ve made it an entire year, Baker. You know how hard that is? And you came back from an injury. You’re the real deal, not just some publicity stunt to sell more tickets.”

She made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat and picked discontentedly at the label on her beer.

“Maybe, but it’s not like anyone takes me seriously.”

“You made this squad on your own merit, not ‘cause MLB pulled some strings. How much more seriously do you want people to take you? You’re a fucking All Star for Christ’s sake.” 

“I won the popular vote because people know my name, not because I actually deserve to be an All Star.”

Mike frowned. 

“You know I won the popular vote like three times, right?”

An acidic smile tugged at her mouth and it turned Mike’s stomach. Christ, he hated seeing her unhappy. 

“Yeah. Just no one ever told you that you’d be a better asset to your team waiting in the locker room on your knees, mouth open,” she muttered, hunching sullenly over her drink.

Mike burned. Burned with shame that anything he’d ever said or done made Ginny think he came even close to thinking that of her. And burned with rage that some shithead had the nerve to tell her that and still managed to walk away with the use of all four limbs.

“Who the fuck said that to you?” he demanded, ready to shove off his stool, out of the bar, and into the early evening to track down the son of a bitch.

Ginny just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters! Who the fuck thought they had the right to spew that kind of bullshit at you?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, one brow raised, and Mike wilted a little. He tried to tell himself that his bullshit had been different. Clearly, it hadn’t been different enough. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated, taking a slug from her beer and wrinkling her nose. Mike knew why she drank it, despite hating the taste, but he wished she didn’t feel like she had to. “It’s not like I believe it, but it’s hard to shake off the fact that other people do.”

“The people who matter don’t.” 

Ginny finally turned to look at him full in the face. There was too much doubt in her wide, dark eyes. 

“They don’t,” he pressed, leaning an elbow on the bar to keep from leaning into her space. That wasn’t what she needed. Or wanted. “Blip and Ev don’t. The rest of the team doesn’t. Neither does Al or the coaching staff. Or Oscar and the front office.”

“And what about you?” 

Mike tried to shake off the way her husky murmur made his heart begin to pound and tried to focus on the fact that his opinion mattered again. That was the win. Especially since nothing was ever going to happen about the way almost everything about Ginny made his heart pound.

He thought about brushing it off, responding with a joke, like this didn’t mean the fucking world to him. But the uncertainty and hesitance on Ginny’s face convinced him otherwise. 

“I don’t think that either.”

She sniffed, neither unimpressed nor looking like tears were imminent. Sometimes a sniff was just a sniff. 

“Now that your pity party’s over—” Ginny laughed at that, taken aback but not mad. “—can we get outta here?” 

“Yeah, old man. It’s getting close to your bedtime isn’t it?” she teased and Mike struggled not to light up. Fuck he’d missed this. 

“You’d need the energy too if you had to drive all the way to El Cajon to give your pitcher a pep talk.”

Her smile this time was a little softer, but it hit him just as hard. 

“Thanks for coming,” she said, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “You can go, I’ll just wait for my car to get here.”

“Nah, c’mon. I’ll take you.”

Someday soon—he fucking hoped—she’d stop looking quite so wary when he offered up these meaningless favors: a piece of gum, running hitters, a spot to sit, a bit of advice. She’d stop looking at him like she expected him to spit at her, not that he didn’t deserve the wary caution. He understood that reforming their friendship would be harder, more work than falling into it in the first place had been, but he would wait her out if it meant getting back to what they had been before he fucked it all up. He could be patient.

For Ginny, he was coming to realize, he could do a lot of things.

 

* * *

**August**

 

“Lawson,” Ginny called from across the clubhouse, “you coming out with us?”

He hesitated. 

On the one hand, the team had just surged ahead in the standings, steadily clawing their way up to a Wild Card spot. If anything deserved a celebration, it was this. 

And, personally, he was tempted to agree because he finally felt like his teammates actually wanted him to come. The Padres had come back around on Mike Lawson, a development that certainly didn’t hinder their newfound success on the field. 

He should’ve known that Ginny’d be the key to winning back the rest of the team. Once they seemed satisfied that pitcher and catcher had buried the hatchet, Mike found that he was no longer the least popular guy in the clubhouse. It’d take time to fully rebuild some of those friendships, especially with Blip, but finally, Mike was sure that he actually could.

On the other hand, and more pressingly, Mike wasn’t sure it was a good idea to spend the evening with a Ginny Baker flushed with victory and riding a post-win high. Even if they’d spend that evening surrounded by the rest of their teammates. It seemed like a dangerous combination, and one he’d been trying to keep away from lately.

It was hard enough to remember that Ginny didn’t want him when they were fighting. When they were actually getting along? Forget about it.

Mike would love to deny that he was still hoping for Ginny to change her mind. Deny that his continued good behavior was at least partially inspired by the possibility that he could convince her to want him the way he still wanted her. Deny that he wanted the new ease to their friendship to be an indicator that the latent attraction Ginny’d felt for him last year was deepening into something more. He wanted to deny it all because there was no way any of that would come to pass. 

These days, though, he was trying to keep his lies less potentially destructive. 

At his pause, her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted stubbornly. “You’re coming,” she decreed. “Captain has to come out with the team, right guys?”

The agreement that went around the room was less half-hearted than it would’ve been at the beginning of the season, which was something. 

Still, though, Mike hesitated. 

Ginny’s jaw set, and before she could tear into him, he caved. 

“Fine, Baker!” he huffed, snatching his bag off his chair. “You don’t have to beg!”

“I don’t beg!”

She looked so scandalized, mouth agape but still somehow grinning, Mike couldn’t help but snort and shake his head. The rest of the team started to shuffle out into the bowels of Petco Park, but Ginny waited for him, her fingers curled around the strap of her backpack. 

“I’m sorry,” he drawled as he drew even with her, itching to throw an arm around her shoulders the way he would’ve this time last year. She fell into step with him anyway, which would have to be good enough. “What was that big-eyed puppy impression you were doing the other day when I wouldn’t give you my lunch? Seemed an awful lot like begging...”

Ginny scoffed. “Did you just compare me to a dog?”

Mike thought it over and decided to go with it. “I haven’t seen something so pathetic since Jedi used to beg for dinner scraps.”

“You did not just compare me to your dead dog!” she laughed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. 

“Jesus, Baker! Watch where you put those things!”

“You deserved it!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, privately thinking that a few cheap shots were well worth Ginny laughing with him again.

They managed an easy back and forth all the way to the player’s lot, where Mike headed for his truck, figuring he’d just follow the line of Padres to whatever club or bar was hosting tonight’s outing and Ginny would ride with Blip or, God forbid, Livan. Either way, he could take the time in the car to remind himself that he and Ginny were just friends, and he was fucking lucky to have that. He wouldn’t contemplate heading home instead, knowing she and the rest of the team would end up giving him shit all night, blowing up his phone to the point where he might as well just be with them. 

He slung himself up into the driver’s seat and loosed a long breath, closing his eyes. In the quiet, he told himself, _Just get through this_.

That peace was shattered by someone insistently pulling at the passenger’s side door, apparently annoyed at being locked out. 

Before he even opened his eyes to see who it was, Mike was reaching to unlock the door. His head lolled to the side and he forced himself to face reality just in time for Ginny to jerk open the door and climb inside.

“Were you planning on leaving me here?” she asked, suspicious but not serious.

“I thought about it,” he replied, not mentioning that he hadn’t even considered she’d want to ride with him. Not when she could have her pick of chauffeurs. 

“Rude, Lawson. You’re rude.”

“And yet you’re still friends with me.”

She tossed him a quick smile, no hesitation and Mike wondered if he’d ever stop sagging in relief when she did that: didn’t question their friendship. 

Bag settled in the footwell, where Ginny’s pristine Nikes were meant to go, she propped her feet on the dashboard instead, making herself at home. Mike cut her a quick glance out of the side of his eyes as he pulled out of the spot and followed Salvamini onto the San Diego streets, but Ginny ignored him. Instead, she picked up their conversation where they’d left it: Desert Island Movies.

Mike was laughing at Ginny’s latest pick (while he’d never seen the Josie and the Pussycats movie, he felt confident in saying it wasn’t Desert Island material) when the turn he took blew him straight into a bout of déjà vu. 

A rumbling sense of intuitive dread crept into his stomach at the next. 

“Where’d you say we’re going?”

She shrugged, fiddling with the radio. “I don’t know. I didn’t pick. Livan said he knew somewhere.”

Mike nodded, but as they neared their destination, the pit in his stomach opened up, ready to swallow the ease he’d fought and scrapped for with Ginny whole. 

He pulled into a spot on the street behind Salvi’s minivan, threw the car into park, and couldn’t quite hold in his disbelieving scoff of laughter. 

Fucking Livan.

“I didn’t pick it,” Ginny repeated, staring hollowly with Mike at the familiar building. 

Boardner’s.

Mike bit back his sigh. “I know.”

“You don’t think they...” 

She didn’t have to finish the thought for Mike to know what she meant.

“No. I don’t think they know.”

A slightly manic spurt of laughter burbled out of Ginny’s mouth. “So this is just some coincidence?”

“Yeah.” 

“It can’t be,” she argued, voice going a little high as she let panic creep in. “It means something. It was this time last year—”

“Hey,” he murmured, reaching out without thinking to hold her hand. It was so rare that he let himself touch her, Mike wanted to revel in the feel of her warm, dry skin against his, but he focused on the matter before them. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it, and we don’t have to. It’s your call, I’ll follow it.”

She looked at him, chest heaving a little as she struggled to wrangle her breathing into its regular rhythm. When it settled, she asked, “You’ll follow my call?”

“That’s all I’m trying to do.”

For a second, a flicker of confusion passed over her face, but it was gone by the time Mike blinked. In its place was frowning comprehension. 

That she hadn’t realized he’d tried to be better for her and not just the sake of team dynamics was pretty fucking gutting, but better late than never. Mike offered her a half-hearted grin which she returned, equally unsure. 

“You ready to go in?”

Ginny looked back to the bar and blew out a long breath, exhaling her discomfort and the memories of last year. Finally, she shook out her shoulders, settling them straight and even over her spine. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Mike’s grin brightened. How couldn’t it in the face of Ginny’s strength and composure? 

When she didn’t move to open the car door, though, he let himself tease her, just a little. 

“All right, then. I’d hate to leave your adoring fans waiting.”

She threw him an exasperated glance, but at last climbed out of the SUV and headed for bar (her biggest fan right on her heels).

 

* * *

**September**

 

As was becoming habit lately, Mike was the last one left in the Padres clubhouse at the end of the night. Tomorrow, they’d play their last game of the regular season. Two days later, they’d go into the first Wild Card game for the Padres in more than five years. 

He was doing his best to soak everything in, commit it all to memory. Even the slightly stale scent of sweat and dirty socks. 

“Did you fall asleep again?”

Mike cracked open an eye to see Ginny staring down at him in her post-game uniform of leggings and a workout jacket, fond smile on her face. 

“You find me sleeping one time,” he muttered, leaning forward and scrubbing a hand over his face to keep himself from staring.

“It was way more than once,” she responded, flopping into Blip’s empty chair and spinning idly. Mike could feel her studying him, but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. Gently, she asked, “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess there’s not too much I can fuck up with one day left.” 

“Not as long as they keep Salvi out at first.”

Mike ignored the joke, feeling too close to nostalgic and weepy to appreciate it. “It’s a goddamn miracle I made it this far.”

Ginny hummed and nodded. “Your knees?”

He shook his head, though she wasn’t wrong. “I’m not good at just _having_. There’s something about me that makes it impossible to just let things be good.”

“That’s bullshit,” she returned, entirely and suddenly unsympathetic.

“Real nice, Baker.”

“It is!” she defended, leaning forward in her chair, so close their knees nearly touched. Mike sat back, arms crossed over his chest like he was annoyed, but really just needing space. 

Once he was retired, he’d have all the space he wanted. 

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

“You’ve had sixteen years in the majors without imploding, Mike. You’re the captain of this team and have the respect of everyone who’s ever played with you. What’s that if not letting things be good?”

“Right,” he huffed, pushing to his feet to pace. “Those same sixteen years where I let my personal life go to shit more times than I can count? Including my wife leaving me twice and blowing that respect you say I’ve got out of the water when I tried to abandon my team over—”

He shut the hell up. 

“Over what?” Ginny murmured, though the undercurrent of steel was nothing to laugh at. It wasn’t something he could easily lie to, either.

He didn’t.

“Over something I let get to me and affect the team too long.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” 

“What else should we call it?” he demanded roughly, looking away.

“Maybe the worst six weeks of my entire life?”

“You got over it just fine,” he said, exhausted and wishing he hadn’t walked straight into this. 

“I got over it?” she repeated, disbelief coloring each word. Mike didn’t have anything to say to that. Ginny did, though, standing up, too. “Do you know how fucking _heartbroken_ I was in Arizona? It was like you hated me, Mike, and I had no idea what I’d done!”

“You didn’t do anything and I definitely didn’t hate you,” he sighed, pained that she thought that, but also unwilling to dig deeper. 

“It felt like it!”

“What do you want me to say?” he bit out, struggling not to raise his voice, but frustrated beyond hell. 

“Start with the truth!”

The only reason he’d managed not to lose it all season was by burying the truth of his feelings, their breadth and startling depth, way down deep. He couldn’t believe Ginny wanted the truth now, with one game left in the regular season. They’d made it this far. Why ruin everything they’d gotten back now?

“No.”

“Why?” she demanded, shaking with her anger. 

“Because I already know how this is gonna play out, and forgive me if I’m not that eager to go back to not talking to you.”

“Oh, you know how this is gonna play out?” Ginny mimicked with a sneer.

“I’ve got a pretty good fucking idea,” he spat back. “You made yourself very clear.”

“How could I have made myself clear when I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about?”

Mike snorted, which she did not seem to appreciate. At all. 

“What the fuck was that? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mike—”

“You said it was a mistake,” he cut her off, and she fell silent at his words. “When I— When I kissed you, you said it was a mistake.”

Ginny stared at him, for once at a loss for words. 

Mike, on the other hand, couldn’t keep the words down any longer. 

“It _was_ a fucking mistake. I was drunk and pissed and I never should’ve kissed you. Not because I was out of my mind with jealousy—had been ever since I found out about your date with the billionaire—and desperate to deny the fact that I’d already ruined everything there was between us. I shouldn’t’ve kissed you. Not like that.”

Ginny swallowed, digesting his words. Just when he was about to turn away, leave this conversation on a higher note than he was sure it would go if he continued, her voice stopped him. 

“Then how?”

She stared up at him, lips slightly parted and looking so perfectly kissable that it was Mike’s turn to be at a loss. Which seemed to suit Ginny fine. 

“How should you have kissed me, Mike?" She took a step toward him, eyes trained on his face. “If you shouldn’t’ve been drunk or jealous or desperate, tell me how you should’ve kissed me.”

Ginny was so close. It would be so easy to reach out and tuck that stray curl behind her ear. So easy to set his hands on her waist and wait for hers to find their own holds on him. So easy to duck down and press the kiss she seemed to be asking for against her waiting mouth. 

So easy. 

But a mistake.

“I should’ve waited,” he answered. The way Ginny rocked away from him told Mike that she hadn’t been expecting that. “I should’ve waited until we weren’t teammates. Until I wasn’t in the game. Anything else would’ve been unfair to you.”

When Ginny finally managed to come up with a response, she seemed torn between a frown and a smile. Her lips turned down, but her dimples still dotted her cheeks. “I told you I don’t care about fair.”

“You might not, but I do.”

Her eyes closed at that, a rueful smile overtaking the frown. “You know, I thought you were such an asshole when we first met.”

Mike startled back at that, a shocked laugh leaving his lips. Ginny shook her head, gazing up at him, head tilted to the side like she was puzzling him out. 

“And you are. You definitely can be an asshole when you feel like it, but you’re something else, too. You’re sweet and strong and entirely too hard on yourself. I do forgive you. Because I know that even though I don’t understand, not all the way at least, what made you act like that in Arizona, I can see how hard you’re trying to put things right.”

“I am,” he breathed, hardly capable of believing that Ginny was really going to forgive him. 

She nodded and Mike nearly sagged at how the simple gesture put him at ease. It was suddenly so much easier to breathe, a weight lifted from his shoulders that he’d gotten too accustomed to. 

“I don’t know if I agree that _any_  kiss you give me before you’re retired would be a mistake,” she said, which Mike still couldn’t get over. He’d spent so much time these past few months convincing himself that Ginny hadn’t ever wanted him at all. Finding out she did, she _does_ , was maybe more than he could process at the moment. “But I can see your point. You said you’d follow my calls, but—”

As she backed away from him, heading for the clubhouse entrance, Ginny grinned. 

“Maybe it’s time I start following yours.”

 

* * *

**Epilogue: October**

 

Mike had never been one to believe that wanting something the most meant he was going to get it. There had been so many things in his life that he’d wanted—a regular family, a career for the history books, a happy marriage—a hell of a lot more than most people, but he hadn’t necessarily gotten them. 

No, wanting was only as good as the effort he was willing to put in to get it. 

But goddamn if he didn’t _want_  this. 

It wasn’t the crowd screaming out his name or how inherently right he felt standing at the plate, bat in hand. 

It wasn’t that this was the biggest game in baseball and he was finally playing it. 

It wasn’t that this was the last game of his career and suddenly everything meant so much more. The last time he tarred his bat, the last time he got into it with an umpire; the last, the last, the last. 

It wasn’t even the pleasant pool of anticipation in his gut—such a change from the pit that’d been there all season—every time he caught sight of Ginny.

Or maybe it was. Maybe it was all of it swirled together to make for the most exhilarating nine innings of his life.

Nine perfect innings. Even if it wasn’t Ginny on the mound. And it wasn’t his foot to last touch home. There wasn’t a single pitch, hit, or play that Mike would change or trade. 

Not when it led to him mobbed in a crush of his teammates, voices hoarse as they shouted and screamed out their newest title: World Series Champions.

In the melee, somehow Mike found his way to Ginny’s side. Or maybe she found him or they found their way to each other. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t thrown a single pitch today, not when she threw her arms around his neck and laughed out her joy. Mike couldn’t help but echo it back, his own arms wrapping around her waist in a way that felt all too natural. 

There was no kiss. Not yet, at least. But one would come soon. And then another and hopefully a million more. A lifetime of kissing Ginny Baker lay before him.

Because even though his career had come to a close, that didn’t mean the rest of his life had, too. 

For once, he even believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still deeply unconvinced that I know what is actually angsty. This may be because I cry at almost anything, so have a very low angst threshold. 
> 
> I guess with this one, I'm less concerned with how angsty this is/isn't, but whether or not I walked back the awful, damaging stuff they said to each other in the original to make a reconciliation acceptable. I really don't know that I did, since I was so eager to get to the part where they're just happy again, y'know? Partially, that's because I didn't do this from Ginny's perspective, so there's only Mike's slightly agonized view of Ginny's softening, but we don't see what's in her head.
> 
> idk. Let me know what you thought and maybe I'll figure out what I think. Cool?


	46. knock your socks off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monkshoodr: Ginny decides to switch to the high socks/tighter pants version of the uniform and Mike can't concentrate catching/realizes he has a latent knee sock fetish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Mike Lawson losing his mind, "socks" no longer looks like an English word, cursing, pre-smut
> 
>  **NOTE** : This isn't quite smut, but it is definitely more mature than most of the other chapters in this fic. So please be aware of that before reading.

It started with the All-Star Game.

Not the massively inconvenient set of feelings that Mike’s developed for Ginny Baker. Those definitely predated the All-Star Game. He’s known he’s been in love—head over heels, hopelessly  _in love_ —with Ginny since before he even admitted it to himself. No, this was something new.

And it started at the All-Star Game.

Last year, if he was going to be honest. But where last year, Mike had noted the fact that Ginny looked pretty fucking amazing in her short pants and the Padres throw-back colors and skimmed right past that observation, today was different. Because today, Mike Lawson was going to spend an entire inning crouched sixty feet away with an unimpeded view of Ginny’s calves and the tall socks covering them. He’d never actually had to do that before.

So, it started with the All-Star Game and the ridiculous uniform MLB had designed for the occasion. He should’ve known it would become a  _thing_  from the first over-enthusiastic knock on his hotel room’s door.

Knowing only one person in Miami would demand his attention like that, he took his own sweet time in answering.

“Couldn’t get enough of me, Baker?” he’d asked with a smirk when he finally opened up for her. They’d caught a plane from their three game Philadelphia series together, landing in steamy Miami less than an hour ago. They’d even shared a car to the hotel, rode the same elevator to their floor, and only parted ways because their rooms were on opposite sides of the hall.

Ginny ignored him, demanding, “Have you seen the rest of the uniforms?” as she pushed her way inside.

“Uh, no?”

She whirled on him. “Why not?”

“Because I haven’t?”

She just stared at him, unimpressed. Mike sighed and nodded over to the official MLB-branded package waiting on the room’s desk. “Why don’t you just show me what it is you want me to see?"

Ginny jumped at the invitation, tearing into the package without further ado. 

He’d already been acquainted with the bright orange orange jersey they’d wear for Work Out Day. Last week, one of the team photographers had herded him and Ginny into an impromptu photo shoot for the San Diego Padres All-Stars, thrusting the jersey into his hands and telling him to smile. Mike snorted. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever wear on the field, but it certainly wasn’t anything to smile over.

“Orange not your color, old man?” Ginny’d teased at his side. She held the jersey before her, Baker and 43 displayed proudly for the camera. At his sardonic glare, she grinned, a touch diabolical. 

Of course, that was the picture they used. Ginny Baker’s sunny, mischievous grin alongside Mike Lawson’s grumpy exasperation.

The internet had a field day.

"You thought the orange was bad?” she asked in the present, her smile taking on that same wicked edge. Mike swallowed dryly and it had nothing to do with whatever clothes she wanted to show him. It maybe had something to do with the cutoffs she was currently wearing, though. “Just wait.”

Well, Ginny was sorely disappointed when Mike didn’t react to the floral under brim of the hat she produced from the box. Or the matching socks. They were pretty hideous—Jesus. Were those fish hiding among the flowers?—but he wasn’t going to satisfy her by registering an opinion.

He crossed his arms across his chest, the picture of bored indifference. But that was a hard facade to pull off when Ginny licked her lips and left Mike wondering if he’d imagined the way her eyes traced appreciatively over him. He cleared his throat and her gaze snapped back to his.

“Have you never seen what I had to wear during rookie pranks, Baker? This is nothing compared to that.”

She pouted, just a little, and Jesus Christ. She really needed to stop doing that when they were alone in hotel rooms if they weren’t gonna talk about this thing while they were teammates. 

“I was, like, eight when you were a rookie, Lawson. I’m sure I would’ve been scarred for life, though.”

Yeah, he really didn’t need  _that_  reminder.

Just like he didn’t need a reminder of just how good Ginny’s legs could look. 

But that was exactly what he got that All-Star break. Ginny was so delighted with the brightly patterned socks that she made sure to show them off with short pants during workout day and the Home Run Derby following it. Since lots of other players were doing the same, Mike couldn’t really complain. 

He could, however, complain about the sheer volume of lingering gazes on her shapely legs and thin excuses everyone else made up to have a reason to come over and chat. They were supposed to be practicing. Not fucking flirting with his pitcher. At least most of them didn’t stick around too long, not when they caught sight of his judgmental glare.

Unfortunately, Mike also couldn’t complain about the fact that Ginny didn’t seem to mind at all, not when she’d been so uncertain about her place here last year.

It was nice to see her so settled. So happy.

Still, it was a good thing he hadn’t been asked to participate in the Home Run Derby this year. Undoubtedly, he would’ve asked Ginny to be his pitcher. Didn’t matter that he hardly ever hit off her, Mike couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else on the mound for him. If she were in her regular uniform, at least. As it stood now, the sight of her on the mound in this get up wouldn’t do much for his ability to focus on the ball. Not when he could focus on the way her legs looked in those absolutely ridiculous socks. He'd be lucky to even get a hit in, let alone any home runs. He’d be laughed off the field. If he were in the Home Run Derby, that is.

Thank God for small mercies.

So, Mike soldiered through Monday and told himself to get a grip for the actual game tomorrow. As he went to bed, he even believed that he could.

Because as much as Mike admired her perfect figure, it was almost background noise at this point. Ginny was beautiful. It wasn’t fucking news. She was smart and talented and fucking funny, too; the way she looked was only part of what made her Ginny Baker. 

(If he did get lost in his thoughts—and, sue him, he couldn’t help himself sometimes—he made sure to do it in private, never when they were on the field together. There were only  so many more games for Mike Lawson behind the plate. Maybe no more All-Star Games. He wasn’t going to waste them ogling Ginny. 

There’d be plenty of time for that later.)

In retrospect, it was that kind of cockiness that probably led to  _this_. 

 _This_  being Ginny taking the mound in her second All-Star Game and Mike finally getting to be there for it. For her.

He watched her jog in from the bullpen, listened to the roar of the crowd as she took a minute to bask in that sound, that adulation. Jesus, he was fucking proud of her. 

But he also kind of wanted to strangle her.

Because rather than focusing on getting Ginny through her one inning against the greatest of the American League, hopefully without a repeat of that monster homer last year, all he could see were Ginny’s legs. Specifically, her calves sheathed in an awful turquoise, black, and orange sock that disappeared into the high cuff of what were absolutely not her usual pants. 

Her usual pants didn’t fucking  _cling_  to her hips and thighs the way this pair did.

Mike knew Ginny’s uniform inside and out. Knew that she buckled her belt with the fourth hole and couldn’t borrow anyone’s hat because hers was so much smaller. Knew that she hated the short sleeve undershirt and changed her shoelaces at least once a month. And, okay. He knew that her regular pants were a little baggy. Having once or twice felt Ginny’s ass—From a friendly slap, okay? Nothing weird—he knew the regular uniform pants didn’t do her justice. Honestly, most of the uniform didn’t do much for any of her. 

Although, Mike could maybe admit that seeing  _his_  uniform on her instead might get him to change his tune.

Ginny draped in his jersey, a brilliant smile lighting up her face as her fingers worked open the buttons…

He shook himself. That was a dangerous fucking road when he  _wasn’t_  in the middle of a game.

Mike focused in on the fundamental rule of the baseball—Keep your eye on the ball!—and not the way Ginny’s ass looked on her leg kick. But once he told himself not to think about it, it became practically impossible to think of anything else. 

What the fuck? This had never been a problem before. Not like this, at least. He’d always known exactly how beautiful Ginny is and been aware of her sculpted, toned curves just as long. He’d known about it and compartmentalized. There was Ginny on the field and Ginny off it. His brain calling the shots and his— Well. Definitely not his brain. 

So, what the fuck had changed now?

His eyes traced down her form and stuck on the new, glaring change.

The goddamn socks. He just couldn’t look away from them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like for Ginny to wrap her legs around him, or throwing one sock-clad leg over his shoulder and driving—

Equally mortified and turned on, but struggling not to show it, Mike hunkered down and signed for another screwball. Ginny leaned in, staring right at his crotch, and it took every measure of self-control in his power not to do something stupid. At least he’d only have to catch an inning, tops, for her. Then she’d be out of the game and he could focus on what might be his last All-Star appearance and hit a few bombs while he was at it. Prove that he deserved to be here and wasn’t just some dirty old man leering at the beautiful woman on the field.

This didn’t need to be a problem. 

(When Mike finally managed to wrestle himself and his sex drive into some semblance of control, he wandered over to where Ginny’d sat herself down in the dugout. She studied the field intently, but standing right next to her, Mike could see the dimples threatening to make an appearance. After her three outs, one strikeout looking even, Ginny deserved to be pleased with herself.

So, he nudged her side and waited until Ginny turned her attention to him. Mike lifted his chin and grinned down at her. Her lips twitched in response and she nudged him back before returning to watching the National League’s at bats. 

Which was exactly what Mike should be doing. But, like magnets, his eyes didn’t turn to the field, but to something much closer. Those ridiculous socks. He must’ve stared longer and harder than he realized because before Mike knew it, Ginny’s leg was extended before her, almost like she was giving him a better view.

His focus darted back to her face.

Her head tipped to the side to better examine what were apparently palm trees silhouetted on a blue and orange background. What the hell ever happened to the days when stirrup stripes were as varied as a ballplayer’s sock choices got? Who was actually out there, designing socks?

When Ginny looked back at him, she grinned and shrugged. “How could I not show these bad boys off?”

How indeed.)

And it wasn’t. 

Not, that is, until Ginny decided that she wouldn’t go back to the long pants when they reunited with the team. No, the high cuffs, tall socks, and unimpeded view of her strong, lean legs were here to stay. 

 

* * *

  

Mike was in some deep shit.

Not least because he'd already gone on the record talking shit about this.

(To be fair, his opinions were formed when Ginny Baker was little more than a faint blip on his radar, a name he’d started hearing more often, but not one he paid much attention to. How was he supposed to keep track of every pitcher in the Padres system? More importantly, how was he supposed to know how he’d react to them, well, one of them, in a pair of knee highs?

It’d been a long rain delay in Cincinnati, and the guys were going a little stir crazy. They’d already run through Kangaroo Court and doled out the appropriate fines. Conversation was getting a little raunchy, but Mike was wary of intervening when it wasn’t anything that offensive. Or dangerous. 

So, he lolled in his chair and watched as Blip, finally settling into his place on the team, grinned at the whole clubhouse.

"It’s weird to wear socks in bed, right?"

"To sleep? Nah, my girl’s got super cold feet. She made my balls jump back in my body whenever she used to touch me with ‘em."

Blip squinted at Stubbs for a long moment before drawling, “… No. The other one.”

“If you take off your shoes, you should take off your socks, too,” was Sonny’s hot take.

Mike frowned as he considered that. It seemed sound, but he didn’t want to come down on one side or the other yet. He didn't really want to get involved at all.

“Well, tell that to Salvi,” Blip crowed triumphantly, throwing a loose batting glove at the first baseman.

“Dude, I told you that in confidence!” he hissed.

“You telling me you wore socks when you knocked up your wife?” Mike demanded, finally wading into this nonsense. He’d never wanted to imagine any of his teammates’ sex lives, but now he couldn’t get the image of Salvi’s dirty socks sticking out from the bottom of a comforter.

He shuddered. A similar reaction ran through the clubhouse.

Salvamini hunkered down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and practically pouting. “No,” he muttered, petulant. “Penny wears ‘em.”

“And you’re into that?"

“Well, she got pregnant, didn’t she?” laughed Dusty, all the way across the room.

The first baseman rolled his eyes, but where Mike would’ve kept his mouth shut and let the razzing die out on its own, Salvi felt the need to defend himself and his weird preferences. 

“It’s not like she just wears regular old socks. She’s got these tall ones that go up, like, over her knees. Almost like thigh highs, right? And they’re really soft, especially when—”

And that was more than enough of the sexual escapades of Mr. and Mrs. Salvamini.

“Knee socks?” Mike interrupted incredulously. “Like that pair Butch here hasn’t washed for three weeks ‘cause he’s a superstitious wimp?”

“Yeah, but on a hot girl."

“Fuck you man,” shouted Butch good naturedly.

A round of laughter rang through the clubhouse. When it settled, Mike was shaking his head.

“If she’s got to put something on for you to get it up, you’re doing something wrong, man.”

Salvi sputtered, trying to deny, but it didn’t matter. The rest of the team was already ragging him, towels and insults flying through the room, and that was the end of that.

Until, of course, everything had to come back and bite Mike in the ass.)

God help him, if anyone figured him out—and he wasn’t exactly being subtle; it was only a matter of time—he would never hear the end of it. Never mind he’d already made some decisive declarations on the subject, this would blow the lid off his pretty carefully constructed system of divulging just enough to seem interesting while keeping the most personal details of his life private.

He didn’t mind, exactly, the fact that the guys knew which women he took out or went home with. That was fair enough when he’d picked up so many dates in their presence. What Mike did mind, though, was them knowing any other specifics. He liked his privacy, damn it, and if his nosy goddamn teammates sank their claws into this new preference of his, they wouldn’t stop until they’d drained him of every last detail.

And that was all without adding  _Ginny_  to the mix. Bad enough that he could now admit the appeal of the whole socks in bed thing. Could more than admit to it, in fact. If the guys found out that it was Ginny who’d inspired this turnabout, it would be the end of Mike Lawson as the world knew him. 

Which was what he got for falling for someone with 23 built-in big brothers and all the baseball bats their over-protective asses could desire. 

Well, Mike had managed to keep the rest of his feelings under his hat, he figured he’d be able to keep this under wraps, too. But where he’d at least had a little time to get used to his developing interest in his pitcher, this...  _thing_  with Ginny’s goddamn socks hit him out of nowhere. 

And it hit him hard.

While basically every fantasy he had lately starred one Ginny Baker, now they all featured these ridiculous knee socks, too. It didn’t help that her taste ran a bit wild, favoring novelty designs and patterned stirrups far more than the classic Padres blue. (Not that picturing Ginny in a plain navy knee high was all that different from Ginny in stripes or tie dye or camouflage, not when she wasn’t wearing much else and Mike’s hands and lips got to wander freely.)

It wasn’t enough that they—and the woman wearing them—haunted his dreams. 

No, this was a solidly real world problem. Each and every one of Ginny’s starts, Mike was faced with the uncomfortable prospect of either A) getting distracted behind the plate by the shift of her Achilles tendon under her socks as she wound up or B) trying to make out the lines of her sliding shorts beneath newly snug pants when he played first base and spent so much time watching her back. 

Neither was ideal. 

(Nor was getting a hard on while wearing a fucking cup, but Mike had long ago accepted that particular development in his life.)

He tried subtly pushing her back towards the long pants, though he was careful to mostly stay out of it himself outside of a few snarky comments early on. Mostly, he stirred up curiosity around the clubhouse. Sooner or later, someone was bound to ask why she’d changed in the first place. The media certainly hadn’t wasted any time in speculating about it.

Sure enough, not even two series into her newest fashion statement, during a round of drinks at some hole-in-the-wall in Denver, Sonny took the bait. 

“So, Baker,” the other pitcher drawled after a long pull from his bottle, “when do you think SportsCenter is gonna stop talking about your style choices?”

“They’ll get over it,” she said, clearly underestimating the media’s fascination with her every move. After her break up with Noah Casey at the beginning of the season, it’d taken three nearly flawless starts for commentators to stop speculating about her supposed heartbreak. Like hell some dweeb like Noah Casey could break Ginny Baker’s heart. “I mean, I wore high cuffs in high school and no one gave a shit about it. Besides, it’s been helping my game.”

Sonny snorted and Dusty shook his head, but both were smiling fondly. 

Ginny was taking none of that. At Mike’s side, she drew herself up and stared down her teammates, ticking reasons off on her fingers. “Defines the strike zone when I’m at the plate. Less fabric means less drag. Speeds up my delivery on the mound. Same for running the bases—”

“How often are you on base that it even matters?” Blip teased from across the table.

She wrinkled her nose. “My batting average this season is way better than it was last.”

“Baker, I could get a better batting average than you last season blindfolded,” Mike laughed, elbowing her but really wishing he could snake his arm around her shoulders and drag her into his side. She elbowed him back, but didn’t go for any of his really soft parts or shift away from him, so he figured they were fine.

The truth of the matter, though, was that Ginny really was doing better than she had last season. And she wasn’t the only one. The Padres tore up the back half of July and showed no signs of slowing down in August. Even Mike’s game had picked up, particularly at the plate. Sexual frustration was one hell of a motivator.

Nonetheless, Mike didn’t think most of the team’s turn around had anything to do with one pitcher’s sudden shift in fashion sense. Apparently, though, he was alone on that front. 

Once Tony Gwynn, Jr., during a live broadcast, laughingly threw out the possibility that Ginny’s uniform change up was responsible for the Padres’ sudden offensive surge, any hope of her going back to the long, slouchy pants went out the window. The fact that Don Orsillo, as well as basically everyone in San Diego with a Twitter account, latched onto the suggestion with a vengeance only sealed the deal.

It didn’t matter that Ginny’s own batting average was still solidly below .200; baseball players loved a good superstition. 

Even Blip, who could almost always be relied upon to be a calm voice of reason refused to take Mike’s side. Then again, the man was disgustingly superstitious what with the MC Flash shirt that always managed to make Mike’s locker smell like leftover pot roast.

In short, those fucking socks weren’t going anywhere. 

(Mike’s mind certainly wasn’t crawling out of the gutter any time soon. His post-game ice baths had started serving a dual purpose: making sure he could walk through the clubhouse without wanting to down a whole bottle of painkillers and making sure he could walk through the clubhouse without treating everyone to a show from Little Lawson. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse.) 

 

* * *

 

After another three weeks of being distracted by Ginny and her collection of truly ridiculous knee highs—seriously, he was pretty sure people were sending her more every day—Mike was losing his mind. He’d started wondering if he could sweet talk or bribe the clubbies into leaving Ginny’s old, long pants in her locker again. Nothing else had worked. Pretty quickly, though, he realized it’d never work. Most of them liked her more than him. They’d never go along with it.

Maybe he could do it himself, though. Or sneak in and steal her socks? Even just one out of every pair...

This was getting ridiculous. 

Mike huffed and slumped in his chair. Behind him, the clubhouse was in shambles, his teammates having celebrated their tenth straight win pretty hard. He’d joined in for a while, too, because today, the Padres had secured the number one spot in the NL West. Today, they were behind only the Cubs in the National League. Today, they could all practically smell the late October air. He was as pumped as everyone else.

Right up until Ginny’d come running at him, smile as bright as it’d been on the mound. 

To be fair, she’d thrown a hell of a game, shutting out the Pirates in eight nearly perfect innings. She had every right to be pleased with herself. 

But maybe she didn’t need to express it by throwing herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, in the middle of the clubhouse. Not least because his back wasn’t quite as sturdy as it’d once been.

Automatically, Mike’s hands went to Ginny’s thighs to support her. On its own, that was more than enough to send his brain into overload, but combined with an utter awareness of where her ankles and the awful tie dye socks covering them—the left was smudged with a bright grass stain from when she’d dived off the mound to field a bunt—crossed at the small of his back, he had no chance.

As many filthy fantasies as Mike had had about Ginny, he’d mostly managed to keep them off the field and out of the clubhouse. Until now.

That kind of self-restraint had disappeared because it was far too easy to imagine himself in this exact position. Holding Ginny as she clung to him tightly. Just with far fewer clothes. And far fewer spectators. 

Ginny, though, just thrust a fist in the air and crowed, “Watch out, Cubs! Here we come!”

This was followed by a roar of agreement from the rest of the Padres. He assumed. 

Honestly, Mike wasn’t aware of much more than the woman in his arms. 

He could only stare up in reverence at Ginny, her face tipped back to the ceiling, looking utterly triumphant. Somehow, though every other sound had faded away, he could still hear her laugh. He could feel her fingers curling around the back of his neck. He could smell the tang of sweat and dirt still clinging to her skin. Almost in slow motion, Ginny’s face tilted back towards him and her wild, victorious grin turned softer, something just for Mike. 

Awestruck, Mike finally admitted to himself it wasn’t really about the socks. Yeah, he liked them, but he liked the woman wearing them even more and he wasn’t going to deny it for one second longer. For whatever reason, they’d tipped him over the edge and out of stubborn denial, but Jesus H. Christ. 

He was so fucking in love with this woman.

And there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

That funny little smile remained planted on her face the whole time Ginny unwrapped her legs from him and slid to the ground. She didn’t break eye contact once and Mike could feel his heart thundering away in his throat. It took him far too long to take a step back. All he wanted was to pick her up again and quite possibly never put her down again.

Of course, the bubble had to burst, the real world had to catch up with them. The real world and the realization that this was the last place where he should be thinking about sex—and so much fucking more—with Ginny Baker.

So, he’d stepped away and hit the showers. 

One very cold shower.

Now, at least, he was clean and his dick was no longer uncomfortably hard in his cup, but he was still trying not to lose his goddamn mind. 

It seemed like a losing battle.

He’d made it through the last few months of the last season, the off season, and the first half of this one dealing with his attraction to Ginny if not well, then at least adequately. There’d only been that one moment outside Boardner’s where he’d almost let things unravel. Otherwise, he’d been so good.

Right up until the fucking All-Star Game and the fucking socks. 

What the hell was it about those goddamn socks? 

In a matter of days, they’d crumbled his self-restraint and denial, which had been the only armor he had against Ginny’s magnetic personality. Ginny’s perfect smile. Ginny’s goddamn legs in those  _goddamn socks_.

He’d spent his career around dudes in those exact same socks, and even if Mike could admit that a lot of those guys had objectively great legs, he’d never been been so obsessive about them. The cursory porn search he’d conducted in his free time hit closer to the mark. Which wasn’t such a surprise. Who didn’t like videos of hot girls, no matter what they were wearing on their feet? 

Honestly, though, nothing he found quite measured up to Ginny and her high cuffs.

Mike sighed and leaned forward, his back twinging. So much for carrying Ginny around for the rest of his natural life. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, straightening with a grimace. 

“Didn’t Kiki just work you over, old man?” came a low, musical voice to his right. “Do you need to go see him again?

Mike didn’t even jump at the interruption. He just turned and leveled Ginny with a squint. She grinned sunnily back at him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have teammates trying to climb me like a jungle gym, I’d spend less time on his table.”

Inexplicably, Ginny flushed and looked down. She was back in her street clothes, sneakers, leggings, and a lycra zip up. Things Mike had seen her in a million times before. Maybe that was part of it. He’d gotten used to Ginny in her immaculate work out gear, it was just another part of her. In spite of the fact that the high-performance spandex clung to her legs much more determinedly, gave a much better understanding of her every curve, Mike still found he preferred her in uniform. 

She fidgeted for a moment, adjusting the straps of her backpack. It seemed like Ginny was right on the verge of saying something, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a rushed, “See you later?”

“You know where to find me,” he replied, waving her off and only watching her leave out of the corner of his eye. 

What? The day Mike Lawson didn’t take a minute to appreciate the sight of Ginny Baker walking away was the day he should be put out of his misery. 

Fortunately, if not for his sanity, that day wasn’t coming any time soon.  

 

* * *

 

Mike was prepared to grit his teeth and get through the rest of the season. Now that denial was no longer an option, he’d have to. It’d be harder than it was last season, but it wasn’t as if this development changed things much. More importantly, Ginny’s decision to not talk about them hadn’t changed. Mike could keep it in his pants long enough to respect that.

At least, he thought he could.

When this was an issue that was confined to the field and the clubhouse, it was easier to maintain a professional facade. Not least because he was constantly surrounded by guys who’d gladly remind him if he ever forgot himself.

But when Ginny invited him over to her place, the newly furnished condo she’d leased after spring training, Mike had a sinking feeling that, given half a chance, professionalism was about to fly out the window. 

As he rang the bell, he firmly reminded himself that this visit was purely business, never mind the fact it would take place in Ginny’s  _home_. It was one thing to stop by her hotel room on the road to run through scouting reports, but this felt different. Far more intimate. 

It wasn’t. It was game prep.

They’d run out of time to go over the Twins lineup in the clubhouse. Between meetings with his agent to talk contract negotiations and Ginny’s appointments with Nike, it was lucky they’d even made time for this. But since she hadn’t pitched during their away series earlier in the season and had never gone up against most of their batters, they agreed an after hours consult was necessary. The Padres’ hold on the top spot in the West wasn’t quite secure enough to write off this late interleague series.

 _This is work_ , he told himself.  _Work. Work. Work_. 

The mantra dropped abruptly into silence the minute the door swung open.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment and fought the urge to groan. “What the hell are you wearing?” he managed to ask, remarkably clear for the way his jaw was clenched tight. 

Ginny actually looked down, like she needed to double check before answering. When she looked back up at Mike, she shrugged one shoulder and the hem of her oversize sweatshirt crept up her hip, exposing a wedge of skin. 

The bagginess of her top did nothing to offset the scantness of her shorts or the long expanse of her leg they revealed. Well, thigh. The lower half of her legs were covered in a pair of knee socks. 

The same socks she’d been so excited about back in Miami. The same socks that started him down this depraved path to begin with.

“I got cold,” she replied with a shrug, stepping back to allow him in. 

“So put on some pants.”

“They’re all the way upstairs.”

Mike rolled his eyes and vowed not to let his eyes wander further south than Ginny’s neck tonight. 

That resolution lasted until they settled on Ginny’s couch. He would’ve preferred the dining room table for the added formality—distance from Ginny and her ability to effortlessly send him spiraling—but it was currently covered in promotional gear from Nike and her other sponsors. 

Ginny sprawled in one corner and Mike took a more upright post in the other. They flicked through their individual notes for a moment, which was how they always started these meetings. They’d collect their thoughts and then one of them would begin and the other would tell them how wrong they were. Before the arguing began, though, it was nice. Quiet. Usually. Today, only Mike was quiet. Ginny frowned and fidgeted, crossing her legs and uncrossing them. Letting one dangle to the floor and curling the other beneath her. Finally, she settled on stretching them out over the middle cushion, towards Mike.

That, of course, wasn’t enough.

No, Ginny had to slouch down against the arm rest as she frowned at her iPad, her toes insinuating themselves beneath his thigh. Mike kept his eyes firmly on the screen of his tablet and struggled not to do anything stupid. 

Still, he couldn’t resist a dry, “You need some more room? Want me to sit on the floor so you can take over the rest of the couch?”

Her head tipped to the side in consideration, a funny little grin quirking up the corners of her lips. Finally, she replied, “You’re good. You can keep my feet warm.”

“Glad to be of service,” he snorted, and turned his attention back to his heat maps. “Now, let’s talk about Sanó.”

They settled into their regular rhythm after that, although Mike didn’t usually give into the tunnel vision of prepping Ginny for the upcoming game with such a single-minded intensity. He was so focused, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when her feet wiggled out from under his leg and landed squarely in his lap. He also didn’t notice when one hand dropped from his iPad to settle heavily on her ankle, thumb sweeping along the arch of her foot.  

He didn’t notice until Ginny let out a low little hum, her toes wiggling. Practically against his inseam.

Mike didn’t quite drop her foot like a hot coal, but it was a close thing. 

“Uh,” he stuttered, eyes darting to Ginny and away before he could really get a read on her expression, “sorry about that.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulder rise and fall. “It’s okay. Felt kinda nice.”

At that, his eyes landed on her face. She was looking down, but that did nothing to hide the flush staining her cheeks. The last time she’d been so pink, he’d just teased her for trying to climb him like a tree or something. 

And. That was a thing, wasn’t it? Mike had a sudden and distinct memory of watching MLB Whip Around with Blip once and Evelyn passing by as footage of Trout knocking out a homer hit the screen. 

“Mm,” she’d sighed, with real feeling, “I would climb that man  _like a tree_.”

He’d laughed and Blip scowled and he hadn’t thought about it again. Until now. 

Mike’s gaze turned more assessing as he considered this. Slowly, deliberately, he ran the pad of his thumb down the arch of Ginny’s foot again. Her toes curled and her head jerked up, wide eyes landing right on him. 

“What’re you doing?” she rasped, though if she wanted him to stop, Mike couldn’t tell. Her foot remained firmly in his grasp.

“You said it felt nice.”

Ginny’s head tilted to the side once more. It was her turn to consider him. A complicated mix of emotions flickered across her face, too fast for Mike to catalogue fully. He knew there was uncertainty and anxiety and maybe even hope before her expression settled into that steely resolve he knew so well.

She leaned forward, her heels digging into his thigh. Reflexively, Mike’s fingers tightened, mostly to keep them planted well south of where his dick had begun to stir to life, but he didn’t take his eyes off her for a second.

“What if I said something else felt nice? Would you do that, too?”

Mike swallowed hard, his heart already thundering away. His mouth was drier than Death Valley, but he still managed to respond, “I guess it depends on what it is.”

A smile flickered to life. Ginny finally pulled her feet from his lap, but only so she could scoot from her end of the couch, boxing Mike into his. He’d never been so happy to be cornered. 

“Depends on what?” she breathed, just the slightest sliver of space separating them.

Mike never answered. The thin thread binding up his self-control snapped. Before he could quite believe, it, he had Ginny’s face cradled in his hands, his lips pressed against hers. She was too close, too tempting for him to do anything else. 

If she was surprised, it wore off quickly, her mouth moving against his in a hungry, insistent rhythm. She swung a leg over him and landed right in his lap, never once breaking off the kiss. Her mouth fell open against his and Mike wasted no time in sweeping his tongue inside, reveling in her taste. She’d been stealing his gum. A soft little sound of displeasure escaped her throat when he pulled away, but he needed to breathe. He’d been too focused on Ginny—her warmth, her weight on top of him, her tongue sliding against his—to do anything as mundane as breathe.

“God, I love you,” he sighed, once he had the oxygen.

That had her pulling away. Not far, since he still cupped her chin in his palms, but far enough. 

His eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by the sight of Ginny Baker, flushed and staring at him in astonishment. Mike’s thumb swept across her cheekbone, and she blinked, shaking herself a little.

“You do?”

“I do,” he assured her gravely before lightening his tone. “Even when you insist on wearing these ridiculous socks, I love you.”

She huffed out a chuckle, but still leaned back in to murmur against his lips, “I love you, too. Even when you criticize my wardrobe.” And then she was kissing him again, this time taking control of the pace herself. Not that Mike was going to complain about that. 

No, he let Ginny lead and focused on all the other things finally open to him. His hands fell away from her face, skimming down her body, a cursory exploration that he would enjoy fleshing out later. One worked its way under her sweatshirt while the other palmed her knee, fingers splayed down over the top of her socks. Somehow, they felt so much softer than the identical pair sitting abandoned in Mike’s closet. He stroked along the edge, fascinated by the contrast between her warm skin and the fabric.

Apparently, though, his appreciation didn’t quite come across.

Ginny broke away from him, though she couldn’t resist pressing a quick peck to his lips before pulling away fully. Mike chased her and she laughed, high and breathy. “Let me get these off,” she panted, rising a little to pull at the toes of her knee highs.

“What? Why?” he blurted, his grip on her tightening. 

She stilled and looked down at him. A confused, but delighted, smile stole across her face. “I thought you hated the socks,” she said, settling more firmly into his lap. “You kept— You just said they’re ridiculous! I thought it’d be easier to keep our distance—”

He snorted. “The only thing I hate about them is having to see you in them every goddamn day. Do you know how good they make your legs look?”

“Maybe you should tell me,” she murmured through a bright, dimpled grin. Her fingers curled into his hair and Mike sighed happily.

“Maybe I could show you,” he countered, letting his hands run down the taut line of her calves.

“I think I’ve already got a pretty good idea,” she teased, rocking her hips pointedly. 

He responded with a grind of his own. Ginny gasped and he didn’t bother concealing his filthy grin as he growled, “Not sure that ‘pretty good’ is good enough, Baker.”

“Then by all means, Lawson,” she replied, voice only a little unsteady, but undermined by her thighs squeezing firmly around him, “show me what you’ve got.”

Oh, he definitely would. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Rachel for putting up with such a long wait and bouncing ideas back and forth with me on this one. You're the best!!
> 
> Anyway, I've been feeling a lot of something watching the All-Star break this year, so here's me thinking too much about the fact that Pitch should definitely be there filming. And some of Mike's agonizing over undiscovered kinks. This initially wasn't going to be split into sections and I haven't decided which version I like better. Did it work? Should I go back to one long, slightly rambly, chunk? Let me know what you thought!


	47. cheap medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5sosmukefan2015: ginny get sick with the flu during off season and Mike takes care of her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: sick!fic, mother hen Mike Lawson, slice of life, post season 1
> 
> chapter title: Lord Byron quote, "Always laugh when you can. It is _cheap medicine_."

Mike was just getting back from his afternoon bike ride—another ploy to get his cardio up while keeping the strain off his knees—when his phone skittered across the kitchen island. He’d tossed it there face down when he came in, or he would have just glanced over to see who’d texted him. As it was, he was busy chugging down water and monitoring his heart rate to prove that all this low-impact bullshit was beneath him.

Maybe if he hadn’t wheezed up that last hill, he’d believe it himself.

It wasn’t until later—a totally normal amount of time later, thanks—after Mike stopped feeling like his lungs were on fire and had washed away all the sweat, that he remembered the message waiting for him on his phone. 

He padded back into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist, to see what it was. 

A few other notifications had come in while he was distracted, updates from the ESPN app and an email from his agent, but only one text message.

From Ginny.

Mike was pretty sure it meant something that just the sight of her name on the screen made him smile, but that wasn’t a thought he was allowed to have. 

So, he settled for getting on with it and opened the message.

 **Ginny Baker**  
_what was that movie u told me about?_

Shaking his head, Mike returned,  _You’re gonna have to be more specific, Baker._

Almost immediately, a bubble and three little dots popped up. 

Jesus. Didn’t she have anything better to do?

_ugh. u know. the one with the guy and the thing._

Real helpful.

Shaking his head, Mike hit the dial key. Might as well just hash this out in one go rather than volley back and forth while Ginny tried to figure out what she was talking about. 

The line rang a few more times than Mike was used to, especially since Ginny had to have her phone close by. Frowning, he rattled around the kitchen, filling another glass of water while he waited on his teammate to pick up.

Finally, the ringing stopped, though Ginny didn’t say anything in greeting. Instead, there was muffled coughing. 

“Baker, if you think that’s going to keep me from making fun of you, you’re wrong. There aren’t many movies I haven’t told you to see. After Livan, you have to be the pop culture weak link on the team, and he grew up in a dictatorship.”

Mike could’ve kept going, but honestly, it wasn’t often that Ginny let him get that far without interrupting him, and he’d definitely given her plenty to interrupt. 

“You there?” he asked, pulling the phone away from his face to see if the call had been dropped. 

Nope. Ginny was just unusually quiet.

Finally, after a long moment, came a croaked, “I’m here.”

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Mike demanded. Ginny’s voice was naturally a little raspy, but this was something else. Had she been out partying last night? Hard enough to completely lose her voice? No way. That would definitely have gotten attention and the google alert he’d set up would’ve told him if there were any new pap shots.

It was for the sake of the team, all right? Mike had to know what bullshit they were getting up to. He had one for all the guys.

(If he’d set up Ginny’s first, and then worried about seeming like a creep, that was immaterial.)

She cleared her throat, not that it did her much good. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just tell me the movie.”

“You never take my movie suggestions,” he returned. “Why need one now?”

Ginny huffed and again, it probably meant something that Mike knew the exact expression on her face, but, again, that wasn’t a thought he could be having.

Lately there’d been quite a few of those.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m not feeling too hot and figured I could use the down time to make fun of your taste in movies.”

Mike had never known Ginny to need down time, no matter how shitty she felt. Hell, the afternoon after her wild night out in LA, going off next to no sleep, she’d come in and gone hard during the pre-game work out and warm ups. Probably too hard for the day after a start. But she thought that she had something to prove and God forbid anyone tell her she didn’t.

“How sick are you?” he asked, knowing that whatever she answered, he’d probably have to multiply by a magnitude of three or four to approach reality. 

“It’s just a cold,” she sniffed, though Mike honestly couldn’t tell if it was disdain or because her nose was dripping.

“A cold.”

“Yes,” she hissed, clearly regretting the decision to divulge even that scant information.

“Bullshit, Baker. How do you know it’s not walking pneumonia?” he demanded, bracing himself against the counter, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. If she was going to downplay it, he could afford to be a touch overdramatic.

“’Cause it’s not.”

“So your doctor ruled it out?”

There was a long silence over the line before Ginny reluctantly croaked, “… No.”

Mike’s eyes slid shut, his patience tested. “Have you even been to the doctor?”

“No, because it’s just a cold, old man.”

Had she always been this maddening? Straightening and scrubbing a hand across his face, Mike moved on. There was no point in arguing with Ginny when she was perfectly healthy. He had a feeling that being sick just made her more stubborn. 

“Sure it is. Who’s taking care of you?”

“Huh?” 

The utter confusion in her voice shouldn’t have been so adorable, but there were a lot of things about Ginny that Mike wasn’t supposed to find so adorable.

Patiently, he replied, “Who’s making sure you medicate and eat? That you don’t go out and try to run a marathon?”

“Oh, uh. Me?”

“What.”

“What?” she whined back.

“No one’s taking care of you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I’m 24 and live on my own? I don’t need someone to take care of me while I have a cold.”

Well, she could think that all she liked, but that didn’t make it true.

While she spoke, Mike started hunting around the kitchen for one of the reusable grocery bags his housekeeper used. Inexplicably, they were stashed under the sink, along with the cleaning supplies. He resolved to start washing his produce more thoroughly, and began rummaging through his cabinets for soup and crackers, not trusting Ginny to have much more than protein shakes and grape soda in her kitchen.

“Baker,” he said, packing up his supplies and making a list of things he’d need to pick up at the pharmacy, “you sound like you’re on death’s doorstep. Clearly, you need someone to come keep you alive.”

“I told you,” she protested, “I’m fine.”

Mike would be more inclined to believe her if she hadn’t had to pause in the middle of her protest to hack out a lung. She only just managed to rasp out “fine,” which sealed the deal.

Car keys and supplies already in hand, he told her, “I’ll be over in twenty minutes. Try not to die before I get there.”

“Fuck you,” she wheezed, hanging up.

Mike just chuckled, shaking his head. “This should be fun.”

He was halfway to his car before he realized he was still wearing just a towel and ran back inside to get dressed. 

Fun indeed.

 

* * *

 

Ginny’s head was killing her. Her mouth was dry, but she could feel the mucus from her nose draining down the back of her throat, a slick, grimy ooze that kind of made her want to throw up. If she thought she could actually make it to the bathroom without dizzily stumbling into something, she’d consider it. As it was, she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. The pile of used Kleenexes on the floor practically barricaded her into her nest on the couch. It was so tall, that if she rolled off the cushions, she wouldn’t drop an inch. She knew she was too warm but couldn’t stop shivering.

She was fine. Really.

The fact that the room spun when she hauled herself upright when her buzzer went, didn’t mean much. The creak in her back and joints didn’t mean much, either. She’d been through a hell of a lot of pain in her life, this wasn’t that bad. 

Still, she shuffled towards her condo’s front door, where the intercom was still buzzing insistently. It hurt too much to pick up her feet and take real steps. Plus, wearing her fuzzy socks, this was kind of like sweeping. She was multitasking.

She giggled blearily at the thought, but had to stop and wait for everything to steady when it sent her head off into a rapid swirl.

Once she arrived at her goal, Ginny jabbed at the key that would make the buzzing stop and open the lobby door. She didn’t bother to say anything, just unlocked the front door and shuffled back to her nest. If it wasn’t Mike, she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight, but with the way she felt, maybe getting crazy axe murdered wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  

It would definitely be better than getting woken up by her captain shaking her awake, gruffly demanding, “What the  _hell_ are you doing?”

Ginny couldn’t say how she’d managed to fall so thoroughly asleep in the three minutes between buzzing Mike into her building and him making his way up, but she startled awake, thrashing in her blanket cocoon and nearly toppling off the couch. 

Once she had her balance back, she glared at Mike. “I was sleeping,” she grouched hoarsely.

“With your door unlocked? Anyone could’ve wandered in!”

She squinted up at him, resisting the urge to flop back into her nest and ignore the worry wart. When he looked ready to start in on a speech, and, really, her head could not take  _that_  right now, Ginny finally replied, “And yet, you still felt welcome to let yourself in.”

“Just to make sure you were still alive. I did knock first.”

She shrugged, pulling her blankets tighter around her shoulders as a shiver raced through her. 

Mike eyed her critically, though he did soften upon appreciating how pitiful she really was. It was a testament to how godawful Ginny felt that she didn’t start needling him to push against the pity, rile him out of feeling sorry for her. All she could do was cough and sniffle weakly. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Uhh…” God, why did it hurt to think? She shook her head, eyes shut tight against the way her entire reality shook with it. Finally, she settled on, “I don’t know.”

“All right, lie down before you hurt yourself.” Ginny acquiesced, letting his concern wash over her. “Are you nauseous or just too tired to get food?”

“Second,” she murmured, eyes already drifting shut.

There was a rustling as Mike shoved her secondary pile of Kleenex off the coffee table—the garbage can and floor already full—to make a space for himself. Once seated, the back of his hand settled on her forehead and his skin was so cool that Ginny didn’t even bother not to lean into his touch.

“You’re too warm, Ginny. Do you have a thermometer?”

Ginny was far more interested in the way her name rolled off his tongue, but still managed to shake her head no. Mike’s hand lingered, and he didn’t say anything, prompting Ginny to force her heavy eyelids up and open. 

He was staring. Staring with this dangerous mixture of exasperation and fondness that had Ginny’s stomach swooping. 

There was probably a better time to lick her chapped lips. 

Mike’s gaze darted down, following the path of her tongue. Ginny felt like she was going to burn up, and it had nothing to do with the fever. She kind of wanted to do it again, see if she could get more than his eyes to follow the movement, but Mike shook himself and leaned over to rummage through the bag she honestly hadn’t noticed until now. 

“You’re lucky I knew you wouldn’t have one,” he said, pulling out an oral thermometer and shoving it unceremoniously in her mouth. Ginny squawked a little as it jabbed the soft underside of her tongue, but her captain ignored her, unpacking the rest of the bag. A box of saltines, more Kleenex, cough syrup, decongestants—actually it seemed like Mike had cleared out the entire cold/flu aisle at CVS. “I also knew there was no way you’d have any of this stuff, let alone food—”

“Don’t need food if I’m too tired to make it,” she muttered around the thermometer, curling on her side and trying not to get overemotional. 

Mike was taking care of her. She hadn’t asked—had very specifically  _not_  asked—and he was still here, trying to make her feel better. 

“You’ve got to eat to get better,” he replied. “Sleep’s good, but you need food, too.” 

Ginny scrunched her nose, just in time for the timer on the thermometer to go off. Mike plucked it from her lips and frowned at the display. 

“Definitely too warm. When was the last time you took a shower?”

“Are you trying to tell me I smell, Lawson?” she teased weakly.

“I would never,” he gasped, though Ginny could recall at least three separate times he’d told her she sweat like a pig. Then, giving her a critical once over, tilted his head to the side and continued, “I might think it, though.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?” she pouted. “I’m sick.”

Her captain just shook his head, rueful. “I’ll be nice when you answer the question.”

That seemed unlikely, but Ginny still replied, “This morning. I cut my workout short, but I thought it might make me feel better.” She left out the fact that she’d had to sit on the floor, too dizzy and out of it to trust herself on the slippery tile.

“You still went to the gym?”

“I didn’t feel as bad this morning,” she lied.

Mike’s glare clearly said he saw straight through her, though he let it slide. “Well, you need another. You need to cool down and then get some food in your system.”

Ginny grumbled, but started peeling away the layers of blankets she’d shrouded herself in. She didn’t have the stamina today to go head to head with Mike. Still, she couldn’t resist getting in a parting shot as she shuffled off to her bathroom. 

“Did you at least bring the movie I wanted?”

Wordlessly, Mike held up a stack of DVDs. 

She sniffed and swept—which sounded so much better than  _shuffled_ , even if it was less accurate—off, ignoring her captain’s snort of amusement.

 

* * *

 

Mike was old enough that he didn’t quite trust digital libraries. He liked having physical copies of things, though whether that was due to his age or his childhood, he was disinclined to speculate. 

Either way, his movie collection was nothing to sneeze at, though Ginny literally did once she settled herself back on the couch. Having inhaled three bowls of chicken noodle soup after padding out of her bedroom, curly hair staining the shoulders of her t-shirt with water, she looked slightly more coherent. Even if she was demonstrating her terrible taste in movies.

She’d shrugged at both  _The Sandlot_  and  _The Bad News Bears_ , and eventually admitted the only baseball movie she liked was  _A League of Their Own_ , which Mike would allow was excellent. She hadn’t seemed impressed by  _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_  or  _My Cousin Vinny_ or  _Clerks_ , though the copy of  _The Princess Bride_  that had made it out of his marriage got a fond smile. 

Mike didn’t need anything more, plucking the case from Ginny’s hands and going to figure out her ridiculous entertainment system. He would bet good money on this being the first time she’d used it to do more than keep tabs on sports news for all it was the off season. She’d been going so hard at her rehab, Mike was a little surprised she’d allowed herself to give into being sick. Then again, she’d had a fever of 103.8º. There hadn’t been much choice in the matter. 

When he succeeded in getting the TV set up and came back, he definitely intended to sit in the armchair and let Ginny stretch out on the couch. It seemed safer. Even with Ginny running a fever. 

But Ginny was sitting up and patted the cushion beside her. 

It wasn’t as if he could deny a sick woman in good conscience, right? 

So, he settled in next to her to watch Peter Falk read his grandson a story. 

Mike got up a few times to get a cool wash cloth for Ginny’s forehead, but it wasn’t like he was missing anything he hadn’t seen a hundred times.

Aside from the way Ginny mouthed some of the lines along with the movie, laughing before a joke even landed. 

“You know my movie suggestions were supposed to broaden your cinematic horizons, right?”

She shrugged, unrepentant. “I know what I like, now be quiet,” she hushed, “you’re missing the best part.”

(As it turned out, there were a lot of best parts according to Ginny. According to Mike, watching her light up and laugh, even if sometimes a cough broke in, was any day’s best part.) 

In a testament to how much she loved this movie, Ginny managed to stay awake for the whole thing, though by the end she was definitely using Mike to remain upright.

He laid his hand against her forehead again, relieved to find that she was slightly cooler to the touch. “You feeling better?” he checked, just to be sure.

Ginny nodded, humming in contentment, but made no move to get up or remove herself from his side.

“Want to watch something else?” he teased, having watched her eyelids flutter closed and her head jerk at least four times in the past ten minutes. Clearly, what she needed was to go to sleep.

She just shook her head. “I don’t think any of these were the movie I wanted,” she admitted, leaning sleepily into his shoulder and gesturing vaguely at his selection of movies. 

“I hate to break it to you, Gin, but I have no idea what movie you were talking about.”

“It wasn’t a comedy,” she replied after a moment’s consideration.

“Well, that’s all I brought. You have heard that laughter’s the best medicine, right?”

Her head lolled to the side so she could squint up at him suspiciously. “That explains why you brought the whole CVS with you, huh?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I figured a little codeine couldn’t hurt, either.”

Ginny settled back against his shoulder, though her forehead definitely brushed against the bare skin of his neck, chuckling weakly. “Whatever you say, Mike.”

“That’s right,” he said, scrambling to get his bearings and ignore the way she felt, all pressed up against him, warm and relaxed. Not only was she sick, but they would be playing with each other again in less than a month and they still weren’t talking about this. He needed to backpedal, and fast. “Now can I get that in writing? For spring training when you undoubtedly shake me off fifteen times a game?”

“Sure,” she murmured, her dark lashes kissing the tops of her cheeks. “When I wake up.”

“No, no,” he laughed, scooting out from supporting her and dragging the drooping pitcher to her feet. “If you’re gonna fall asleep, you should do it in your own bed.”

Ginny only made cursory protests, especially once Mike looped an arm around her waist and she could lean on him for the short walk to her bedroom. The protests died completely when she fell into the cool sheets of her bed and Mike settled another damp washcloth on her forehead. He smoothed the blankets over her and within moments, she was asleep. 

Mike only allowed himself to admire how peaceful she looked for a few seconds before going back out to the living room to begin cleaning up. 

Just because he wasn’t going to watch her sleep didn’t mean he was going to leave before her fever broke. Someone had to make sure Ginny would survive to see next season; it might as well be him. (That he didn’t  _want_  it to be anyone else’s responsibility was entirely his business.) Just, he’d avoid hanging out creepily in her bedroom and do his best to make himself useful.

And, surveying the wreckage of Ginny’s couch and the stack of dirty dishes he knew were piling up in the kitchen sink, Mike knew exactly how he would do that. 

 

* * *

 

When Ginny awoke, feeling groggy and disoriented, but without the dizzy haze that’d characterized most of her waking hours for the past few days, she was relieved. 

A little confused as to why Mike wasn’t there—which was confusing all on its own—but relieved.

She padded out into the living room, and was not all that surprised to find that her blanket nest from earlier had been untangled and folded into a neat pile at one end of the couch. Her coffee table and floor were free of Kleenex and the trash can in the corner had been emptied, too. The personal pharmacy that Mike had supplied had moved to her kitchen counter, along with the pile of DVDs, a note stuck to the top. 

_Ginny—_

How did just reading her name in his scrawl, imagining his low, rumbly voice saying it, tie her up in knots? She didn’t even have her cold-induced weakness to blame.

_Your fever broke while you were sleeping. I would’ve waited until you woke up, but my agent wouldn’t reschedule our meeting, so I had to go. Text me to let me know you’re still alive and I don’t have to explain to Oscar that I’ve let his star pitcher die._

_Watch the movies, and not just the ones you’ve seen before. Eat the food I left you—don’t just order a pizza and wings—and take the cough medicine._

_P.S. Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re the one who said, “Whatever you say, Mike.”_

_P.P.S. I still expect that in writing._

Ginny couldn’t help but grin, even as a cough rattled her lungs and left her throat sore. She found her phone and fired off a message to her captain.

 _still alive, old man. thx for keeping me that way.  
_ _p.s. ur gonna be waiting a long time_

His reply came back, nearly immediate.

 **Mike**  
_That’s okay, rookie. I can wait_.

The bright shock of laughter left Ginny breathless and wheezing, but it was okay. 

She felt better than she had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so nothing really happens, but I don't even care. This started out with just a lot of banter, which is one of the things I love about bawson, but isn't always my strong suit. 
> 
> I do think Ginny would probably deny that she was sick until she was physically knocked on her ass, though. 
> 
> How about comfort movies? Anything you think Mike should have brought with him to make Ginny feel better? My go to sick movies tend to be much girlier than I think Mike would really love and want to share—not that the man can't enjoy a good chick flick. Let me know what you thought! I love any and all feedback!


	48. need a place to hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you write something where mike calms Ginny down from a nightmare or argument or something? Mike Lawson teddy bear moments are my weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, teddy bear Mike
> 
> chapter title: "Can I Stay?" by Ray LaMontagne

A long time ago, Ginny’d learned not to cry out every time she hurtled out of sleep, chased by bad dreams straight into the open arms of panic. If she’d ever thought about the reason for it, she likely would have landed on the years spent riding buses overnight with insensitive teammates, but there were currently other things on her mind. 

One thing, really.

It was just another nightmare. She should’ve been used to them by now. That was cold comfort, though, when Ginny still couldn’t quite catch her breath, couldn’t scrub the bitter bite of adrenaline from her tongue. Her heart still beat double time where it was lodged in her throat. Her arms and legs were still trapped in a sea of twisted, tangled blankets.

Worse, she could still feel it, dragging at her thoughts, trying desperately to claw her back into its grip. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember much of it. Just the sight of Mike’s back as he walked away, boots crunching on glass scattered across the pavement. 

That was more than enough.

Ginny panted harsh and sharp into the darkness, struggling to regulate the in and out of her lungs. She rolled to the side, eager to burrow into the real Mike’s sleepy softness, let his warm bulk ease away her trembling. 

It was just a dream. He hadn’t gone anywhere. Everything was fine. 

Except—

He wasn’t there. 

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as shaking hands scrabbled in the cool sheets. The cool sheets that should’ve been filled with Mike’s warmth. There wasn’t even the remnant of his body heat to tell her he’d just gotten up. Would be back soon. 

Fuck. Where had he gone? 

The telltale burning at the back of her eyes told Ginny that tears were inevitable now, no matter how many deep breaths she tried to suck in, how many relaxation exercises she struggled to remember. No matter how she tried to force herself to calm down, tell herself she was being ridiculous.

It wouldn’t work. 

Still, she managed untangle herself from the bedding, push herself wobblingly upright, and bully her painfully tense muscles into carrying her out into the hall.

Only one thing mattered now: finding Mike. 

He wouldn’t leave, she tried to tell herself, even as quieter but more insidious voices whispered that  _he could_. Not in the middle of the night.  _he could._  Not without a note.  _he could._  Not without her.  _he could._

Ginny hated the way her breath turned high and tight, practically a wheeze, as the dark hall revealed no sign of Mike. Of all the things to freak out about, this had to be one of the most ridiculous. Then again, it wasn’t as if panic was a particularly logical emotion.

Well, the panic could wait until she found Mike. 

Thankfully, a soft glow from the stairs made for a short search.

She padded down a few steps and caught sight of Mike stretched on the couch, a book in his lap. He looked utterly at ease, one knee crooked to the side, his arm tossed over the backrest. 

Relief shuddered through Ginny, and even though she pressed her fist to her mouth, the whimper that escaped her was loud enough to catch her boyfriend’s attention.

Mike looked up from his book, a frown on his face, and his gaze landed right on her. When he took in her appearance though—the sweat on her brow, the trembling of her hands, the pallor to her cheeks—that frown swept into alarm. 

He rocketed to his feet and Ginny gave in and sobbed as she stumbled down the final steps. Mike met her at the bottom, catching her easily as she collapsed against him.

“Shh,” he murmured, his strong arms wrapping her up securely against his chest. “It’s all right. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Ginny couldn’t say what else he crooned into her ear, too wrapped up in the pitch and rhythm to pay attention to individual words. She let his voice, his smell, his heat wash over her as she clung to him, her shakes ever so slowly fading away, the irrational, unnecessary terror going with them. 

At some point—she honestly couldn’t say when or how—he’d maneuvered them back to the couch, pulling her down with him so she could lay tucked between him and the padded backrest, safe and protected. 

She sniffled, tucking her damp face into Mike’s neck and inhaling his familiar scent. Drawing a shaky breath, her lungs shuddering with the effort, Ginny tried to release the tension still coiling through her body, cramping up her feet and making her fingers clutch at the fabric of Mike’s shirt. His big hand traced gentle circles on her back, and achingly slow, leaving her even more drained and exhausted, the tightness in her muscles leaked away. 

“Better?” he murmured.

Ginny just nodded, cuddling into him. 

Why was it so easy for him to make her feel better? And he had to do it so often. Sometimes, she felt like such a head case, like she couldn’t trust her brain at all. God, she was a wreck. What was Mike  _doing_ , wasting his time with her?

“Hey,” he murmured firmly. “None of that, now.”

Fuck. Had she said that out loud? She needed to get her head on straight before she let anything more embarrassing slip.

“Gin, you have to know how much I love you. How much I love being your support system,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow so he could look her in the eye. She was too tired to look away. “You’re mine. If it seems like I’m not terrified of what the future holds, that’s only because I know you’re on my side. It’s hard to be scared knowing that.”

She melted. 

“C’mere,” Ginny sighed, mouth wanting to curl into a smile. Obligingly, he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. 

Something warm and bright spread through her as Mike’s weight settled into the cradle of her hips, chasing away the last of the nightmare and soothing the dregs of her panic, too.

She really didn’t deserve him. But she would strive every day.

“I love you,” Mike repeated, pressing the words into her skin.

“I love you,” she answered, tugging on his hair so she could look him in the eye this time, “but let’s go to bed.”

He laughed, and levered himself up. Offering her his hand, Mike tugged Ginny to her feet. It was a testament to how good he was at soothing her that she laughed, too. 

“Good idea, rook. It’s way past my bedtime.”

“I’d hate to keep you up, old man.”

“Really?” he asked, steering her away from the living room. “I happen to have some very fond memories of you keeping me up.”

Ginny laughed again, letting her hips sway as Mike followed her upstairs, and shrieking as he swatted at her, catching her on the landing and pressing her into the wall. 

When they finally fell back into bed, the nightmare was the last thing on either of their minds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ginny. At least she gets to cuddle with Mike Lawson? There are worse trade offs. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought! Also, I'm beginning to run out of prompts, so if you've got one, I'll take a look. Here or on [tumblr](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask). Thanks!!


	49. eh bien, tant pis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sevensmommy asked for a continuation of [only operating with half my burners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/22051820)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: established relationship, birthdays, Kitchen Disaster!Ginny Baker, continuation of chapter 31: only operating with half my burners
> 
> chapter title: Julia Child quote, "Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed. _Eh bien, tant pis._ Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is."

“So,” Ginny said, vaulting over the back of the couch like a teenage boy and settling easily onto the cushion beside Mike. “It’s your birthday next week.”

Her boyfriend— _Mike Lawson_  was her  _boyfriend_! Was she ever gonna get over that?—didn’t react aside from covering her bare knee with his warm palm. His thumb swept up and down as he continued to work on the Sunday crossword. 

“Mike,” she cajoled, propping her chin on his shoulder.

He hummed vaguely, though Ginny had no doubt he wasn’t nearly as absorbed as he was pretending.

“Your birthday?” she prompted again.

His eyes slid shut for a split second, and Ginny could see him bracing for the old man joke coming his way. Had she been laying that on a little too thick lately? While she deliberated, Mike’s attention slid to her, so she just smiled her sweetest, most innocent smile. 

He was not fooled.

“And?” he finally sighed, sounding far too long-suffering for Ginny’s tastes.

Still, she demanded, “What are we doing?” 

She bounced a little in place, excited at the prospect of a Mike Lawson birthday and not just because she was dating the birthday boy. This was the man who’d partied for a solid week when he won Play of the Year at the ESPYs. And, okay, that’d been a few years ago, right after he found out about Rachel’s infidelity, so there were other things at play. But! The man knew how to celebrate. It was just a fact. His birthdays had to be legendary.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of the party animal now. Cheaters—which he’d rather die than publicly admit to needing—perched on his nose and hints of gray sprinkled through his beard more liberally than they’d been at the beginning of the season, Mike Lawson painted a very different picture. Still a good one—a  _really_  good one, some entirely unashamed part of her supplied—just different. 

He frowned, setting aside his glasses and the newspaper and finally turning his full attention on her. “What do you mean, what are we doing? Why would we do anything?”

Ginny wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s your birthday! Don’t you want to do something to celebrate?”

“I’m turning 37, babe.”

“So?”

He rolled his eyes. “Would you believe that at a certain point, birthdays aren’t all that exciting?”

“Mike,” she whined, wondering why he couldn’t go along with her on this. And why he had to set her up so perfectly for an old man joke she couldn’t make.

“Ginny,” he echoed, grinning. His thumb kept sweeping gentle circles into the skin of her knee, fingertips curling around the joint.

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling back. He wasn’t gonna flirt his way out of this one. Instead, Ginny pushed her fingers through his hair—he was gonna need to get it cut before spring training next month—and leveled him with a serious look. 

“Don’t you want to celebrate your birthday?”

Mike turned into her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, but didn’t reply straight away. When she tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and otherwise waited him out, he got the hint.

“I’m just another year older, Gin,” he eventually replied, taking a hold of her hips and pulling her into his lap. She went willingly enough, straddling his thighs and draping her arms over his shoulders. And why wouldn’t she? Mike’s lap had quickly become one of Ginny’s favorite places in the world. “It’s not that big of an accomplishment.”

“You know birthdays aren’t actually about accomplishing anything, right? You don’t always need to do something impressive in order to celebrate.”

Mike looked skeptical. 

Ginny leaned in and pressed a kiss to his frowning mouth. At first, it was meant to distract him, tease him into seeing things her way, but as usual, she fell into the rhythm of it all at once. 

Kissing Mike was like the first warm day of spring, throwing a first pitch strike, every good thing that had ever happened in her life. Each time, it was perfect and exhilarating and new and Ginny never wanted to get used to it.

After a much longer, and wetter, interlude than she initially intended, Ginny pulled back and was treated to the sight of a blissed out Mike Lawson. His jaw hanging a little slack, pupils dominating his dark eyes, and cheeks flushing pink, he painted quite another picture. He was a man of many facets, her boyfriend. Fondly, she scratched at his jaw under the beard. 

“You’re right,” he murmured, nuzzling into her palm. 

“Hmm?” Maybe Mike wasn’t the only blissed out one here.

His fingers tightened on her hips and he smiled, a little lopsided but utterly charming. He leaned in and it wasn’t until his lips were just a breath away from Ginny’s that he said, “There are other things to celebrate.”

What exactly he meant by that, he made very clear when he closed the distance between them again, kissing Ginny with single-minded intensity. 

Almost like he wanted to distract her from the conversation at hand.

Not that Ginny had much of a problem with that. Or his methods.

No, she was definitely willing to be distracted. Especially when Mike hoisted her into the air and carried her off to bed. 

But it wasn’t as if she’d forget. 

 

* * *

 

Ginny knew enough about Mike and the ways he avoided things to know it wouldn’t be a great idea to bring his birthday up again. If she wanted him to ghost on her, then she could by all means mention the big day on the horizon again. Which she couldn’t even be annoyed about since she dealt with things she didn’t want to talk about in the same way. They really were a match made in heaven. 

What Ginny didn’t know, however, was why he was being so evasive.

Well, he’d tell her when he felt like it, she did know that. 

Until then, she had to figure out a way to mark the occasion without ultimately ending up with a surly Lawson on her hands. 

Which meant most of her initial ideas were out of the question. Even if she’d gotten pretty good at cajoling—and teasing and distracting and otherwise him out of his moods, she had no desire to do it on an occasion that should be pure fun. 

Sometimes, Ginny thought he pretended to be extra grumpy just so she would. 

Not that she particularly minded.

What she did mind was not knowing what to do for Mike’s birthday.

What was she supposed to get the man who had everything? And the weird glass house to keep it all in? 

Last time she’d asked what he wanted, all Mike had done was waggle his eyebrows and rumble, “Oh, I can think of a few things,” and then gone on to distract her from the birthday talk. Again.

Now, they were only a day out and she still had no idea what to give him. Even the simplest of gifts had complications, though. She’d contemplated offering him a nice dinner, but that raised a question: homemade or restaurant? 

It seemed like there was an obvious answer considering the fact Mike still poked suspiciously at anything she produced in the kitchen, but of course things were more complex than that. For one, they still hadn’t told anyone that they were actually dating. They both enjoyed their privacy too much to open themselves up to the comments and scrutiny and accusations that would come their way the minute they went public. And showing up for a cozy dinner date, on Mike’s birthday no less, would definitely count as going public. 

Ginny was pretty sure that inviting the media circus back into Mike’s life was the opposite of a gift. 

It was a fucking hassle was what it was. 

So, restaurant dinner was a no go.

Maybe she could get fancy take out. That was only a slight step above the regular take out she got whenever she was in charge of dinner, though. Definitely not good enough to count as an actual birthday celebration.

There had to be something  _better_. 

Which was exactly when Ginny’s gaze fell on the stand mixer sitting neglected on her kitchen counter. 

By the time Mike came back from a meeting with his agent, Ginny had gone through recipe after recipe online and finally settled on the perfect one. She’d pulled out all the ingredients and arrayed them on the island, but was still staring at her laptop, trying to decide where to begin and denying that she was anything even approaching nervous.

It was a cake. What was there to be nervous about? 

She only looked up when his voice, a little concerned and uncertain broke through her concentration. 

“Gin?”

Startled, her head rocketed up. She pasted on a sheepish smile and drawled, “Hey,” hoping he would focus on her and not the sea of supplies surrounding her. 

No such luck. 

“So,” he said, eyes roving over the cluttered island, Ginny sitting cross-legged and wide-eyed at the center of it all, “what’re you doing?”

“Baking?”

Mike nodded, slow and considering. “Any particular reason why?”

Well, she’d told him that much, why not go the whole nine yards? 

“I’m making you a birthday cake.”

He raised an eyebrow, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Ginny narrowed her eyes, sure that he’d wanted to say, “No, thank you.” 

Mike shrugged, caught red handed. 

“You ever made a birthday cake before?”

“Nope,” she said, staring him down, daring him to say something. “How hard can it be?”

Because Mike was a smart man, he didn’t laugh or snort or do any of the things he probably wanted to do. They weren’t unreasonable impulses considering the weeks of failed cooking lessons they’d weathered while Ginny was trying to pretend she didn’t hate the fact that he went home to Rachel every night, or so she thought. Even now, her best culinary efforts weren’t anything special. Though she was fully capable of making edible food, it was better for the both of them if Mike handled most of the meal preparation. 

Still, he wasn’t a saint.

“You know, just because it’s your name, doesn’t mean you’re going to be good at this.”

That deserved some thought. “Someone in my family had to be an actual baker once,” she reasoned. “Maybe I inherited the talent.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works, Gin.”

Ginny shrugged, and rescanned the recipe on her open laptop. She only looked up when Mike leaned in and swiped a thumb across her cheek, pulling it away to reveal a coating of fine, white powder. She frowned. How she already had a streak of flour smeared across her cheek was anyone’s guess. 

She wrinkled her nose and he just laughed, shaking his head. “You need any help?”

“No, if this is the only present I’m giving you, then I wanna make it myself.”

This time, Mike’s grin was soft. He planted his hands on the counter and leaned back in to kiss her. When he pulled away, Ginny chased him, loving the fluttery thing his kisses left in her chest and wanting to hold onto it a second longer. Mike paused, just a hairsbreadth away. He was doing that a lot lately, and it was doing terrible things for Ginny’s heart. It’d probably explode if he kept at it.

“You give me something every day you decide you still want me,” he murmured, utterly heartfelt. “What else could I ask for?”

With that, and one last peck or three, he left her to her baking. 

Once she managed to get a handle on her wide, ecstatic smile, that is.

 

* * *

 

By the time the cake—chocolate with vanilla buttercream slathered thickly on top to hide where part of it wouldn’t come out of the pan—was done, Ginny was covered in more unidentified powders, but she’d tasted some of the crumbs and it was actually good. Way better than she was expecting, to be honest. So what if one side was a little singed and the buttercream wasn’t quite as white as she’d meant it to be—Why was vanilla extract  _brown_  of all colors?—Ginny was proud of this cake and wanted Mike to see it. 

And anyway, it was well past midnight. 

It was officially his birthday. 

After scrounging up forks and some candles—nowhere near the 37 she required unfortunately—and setting them alight, she climbed the stairs to her loft. 

Mike had gone to bed sometime around hour three of her experiment, but that was a couple hours ago now. (Okay, so this was the second cake. The first one came out oddly flat and Ginny was fairly sure there was an entire eggshell somewhere in there. Either way, it definitely wasn’t something she’d make Mike eat. The poor man had put up with enough during their cooking lessons. So, while this one wasn’t perfect, it was a definite improvement.) Ginny didn’t feel too bad waking him up. 

Especially not since she set the cake on the bedside table and woke him by crawling up his prone form, trailing kisses along every inch of exposed skin. And there was a lot of it. Thank God the man ran so warm. 

He stirred, murmuring a sleepy little, “Gin?” as his hands found their way to her.

“Happy birthday,” she sang, low and sweet, lips skating up and over his stomach and earning a little chuckle. 

“I guess it is,” Mike said, pushing himself upright and capturing Ginny’s lips for his own. 

“Stop it,” she laughed, pulling away, tucking her flour-coated forehead against his shoulder. “The candles are gonna burn out.”

“Well, we’d hate for that to happen, wouldn’t we?” He allowed Ginny to rock forward and maneuver the cake into position. 

The flickering light from the candles lit his face from below, catching in the bristles of his beard, practically making him glow. 

“Make a wish.”

“C’mon, Gin,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. Rather than complain more about birthday-related angst, though, he smiled, tilting his head to the side. Tiny golden lights danced in his eyes and Ginny’s breath caught in her throat. “You know I don’t need to.”

With that, he blew out the candles, sending them back into darkness. 

Remarkably steady for how giddy he was making her feel, she asked, “You wanna try some now or save it for later?”

“I don’t know,” Mike replied, the suspicion in his tone curving around the grin she was sure was still on his face. 

“Try it,” Ginny wheedled, swiping a finger through a thick drift of buttercream and brandishing it at her boyfriend. “I promise it won’t kill you.”

Laughingly, he captured the tip of her finger in his mouth, tongue swirling around the digit until every last trace of frosting was gone. Uncomfortably aware of just how he’d used that tongue elsewhere on her body, Ginny shifted in his lap. Mike’s hands tightened on her hips. 

“It’s sweet,” he pronounced after a moment of thought. A retort about the amount of sugar that’d gone into the icing was on Ginny’s tongue when Mike continued with a lopsided grin, “Almost as sweet as you.”

She flushed and busied herself setting the cake back on the nightstand. “You know, you’ve already got me. I’m yours, Lawson. You don’t need to keep flirting with me.”

“Oh, babe,” he purred, cradling her close before flipping their positions so he could loom over her, “I’m never gonna stop flirting with you.”

To seal that promise, he kissed her slow and deep, leveraging his weight into the cradle of her hips and only stopping when he was satisfied she understood him fully.

Pulling back, a wicked gleam passed through his eyes and Ginny’s toes curled anew. 

Mike Lawson was gonna be the death of her, but she would walk every step towards her doom with a smile on her face. 

“Now,” he murmured, “I think I need another taste of that frosting, but there aren’t any plates. What are we gonna do about that?”

She laughed, tugging him back into her. They could go over her ideas on that score once she’d gotten another kiss.

(Suffice it to say that by the time they fell asleep, sated and perfectly content in one another’s arms, her fingertip wasn’t the only thing that’d been licked scrupulously clean.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so. I'm super close to running out of prompts. Which is okay because I have other stuff that I can work on for bawson, but I also really like having prompts/ideas to work off of. Knowing someone else actually wants to read whatever I manage to write helps me actually get over myself and post something. It may take me a while to get to it, but I pretty much always do!
> 
> So, if you've got a prompt you'd like me to tackle, now's the time to send it in! Either leave a comment or send me a message on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/ask). Thanks! (Also, definitely let me know what you thought of this one!)


	50. behind the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Now just imagine Mike and Ginny are fooling around, he can't wait to have his way with her only for Janet to come traipsing through the house and interrupts them. It takes everything in Mike not to snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: expansion of [this post](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/post/159966206756/now-just-imagine-mike-and-ginny-are-fooling), established relationship, light smut, Janet Baker is a cock block, Mike's more than a little oblivious
> 
> chapter title: Apparently Hungarian proverb, "The place of an unbidden guest is _behind the door_."

“Right there! Don’t you dare stop!”

Like there was any chance of Mike Lawson stopping. He shifted his grip on Ginny’s leg, encouraging her to curl it higher up his back. The change in angle had them both panting, striving together. 

“C’mon, Gin,” he urged, right against her neck, inhaling her sweet, familiar scent. She arched at the drag of his beard, limbs tightening around him, so Mike raised his head, locking his gaze on hers. “You getting there?” She nodded, swallowing hard, nails raking down his back. Her hips canted up and she loosed a shuddery breath, a flush spreading across her chest.

Jesus, she looked good. 

Before Mike could really set about appreciating the woman beneath him, she froze up, every line of her body going taut and tense, but not in the way Mike wanted. Her head cocked to the side, brow furrowing as she concentrated ferociously. 

“Did you hear that?” Ginny murmured. Her leg fell from his back. 

Frankly, no. He’d been a little preoccupied. “It was probably nothing, Gin,” he tried to assure her, but she shook her head. Before she could push him off her, though, she was proved entirely correct. 

“Ginny?” came an all too familiar voice, ringing through the condo. It was Mike’s turn to freeze. 

It couldn’t be— Could it? 

“Ginny Bean?”

It was.

Mike’s forehead thudded heavily into Ginny’s shoulder. “Did we know your mom was visiting?”

“No!” she hissed back, turning pink in a way that had little to do with how they’d chosen to spend their morning and everything to do with the threat of her mother finding them at it. “Mom?” she called out, making Mike flinch away. Jesus, she was loud. And not even in a way he could be unreasonably smug about.

“Are you still in bed, Ginny? It’s nearly noon!” Janet Baker’s voice floated up the stairs. 

Ginny huffed and ignored the dig, instead shouting back, “I’ll be down in a minute!” 

That taken care of, she turned her attention back to Mike. She smiled and wrapped her arms back around him. “All right, super star, think you can finish this in the next few minutes?”

She looked and felt so tempting, for half a breath, Mike wanted to oblige her. 

Unfortunately, temptation would have to wait. “Ginny, that’s your mom!” he protested, a little horrified. He couldn’t just keep fucking her while her mom was somewhere in the house, waiting for them. Aside from being mortifying on a level he didn’t even want to contemplate, Mike was not above the desire to suck up to his fiancée’s mom. 

(Or all moms. All parents, even. But that was a separate issue.)

“Who just showed up without any kind of warning!” she argued back, rolling her hips pointedly and making Mike groan. “Who knows when she’s going to leave?”

Sure she’d won, Ginny tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, but Mike rolled away. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, coming in just close enough that he could press a kiss to her cheek.

Forgive her, but her  _cheek_  was really not the part of her that required attention. 

"You better,” she muttered, once she’d resigned herself to the fact that her fiancé had really stopped their round of morning sex because her mother of all people interrupted them. Wasn’t that kind of thing supposed to stop after she moved into her own house?

Resigning herself to the fact that this was really happening, Ginny heaved a sigh and then herself out of bed.

Apparently, she had a guest to greet.

 

* * *

  

If Janet Baker was surprised by Mike and Ginny both descending the stairs from her room, she shouldn’t have been. They’d been dating for three years already, and engaged for the past six months. The fact that her mom maybe knew they weren’t just getting dressed when she arrived was mortifying, but in a slightly distant way. As long as they didn’t ever talk about it, it would probably be fine. 

As long as her mom also left soon and Mike got back to blowing her mind, it would probably be even better.

“Mom,” Ginny greeted, tense and annoyed. That didn’t mean she didn’t cross the kitchen to give Janet Baker a hug, Mike trailing behind her. As she embraced her mom, she couldn’t resist probing, “I didn’t know you were coming into town.”

“Well, you haven’t been answering my emails about the wedding plans! What did you expect, Genevieve?”

She definitely didn’t expect her mom to hop on a plane to San Diego to get answers, and was about to say so when her fiancé intervened.

“Did you have a nice flight, Mrs. Baker?”

“Oh, it was fine, Mike. Thank you for asking,” her mom replied, concern and disapproval blooming into a warm smile. Ginny, meanwhile, sent him a dirty look. He just waggled his eyebrows back, like he wasn’t dealing with a serious case of blue balls. “And, how many times do I need to ask? Call me Janet.”

He smiled his boyish, winning grin and Ginny had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. God, he always got like this around her mom. If she weren’t so sure he was a one woman kind of man, Ginny would almost call it flirtation. As it was, she was pretty sure he just acted like this when he wanted someone’s approval.

If we wanted to keep Ginny's approval, he'd cut that shit out.

Halting the Mike Lawson charm train before it could really get rolling, Ginny asked, “So, where are you staying?”

Janet’s head tipped to the side. “I thought I would stay in the spare bedroom rather than spend all that money on a hotel room. You told me you finished decorating the spare bedroom. It is done, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ginny gritted out. 

“It’s even got furniture that’s not just from Ikea,” Mike offered. 

What did that even mean? Was that some dig at millennials or her taste? What the hell was wrong with Ikea? Like Mike gave two shits about interior decorating; he’d admitted he’d hired a designer for his house and still didn’t understand half of what’d shown up. Apparently, though, that didn’t matter because he grinned in satisfaction at her mom’s appreciative laugh. Never mind Ginny’s bewildered, slightly hurt expression.

She covered it up quickly, clenching her jaw. Suddenly, the interrupted morning in bed wasn’t the only thing Ginny was regretting. 

“All right, so you’re staying here. For how long?”

“How long will it take to get these wedding plans finished?” Janet countered, raising a brow.

“Mom, we’ve still got six months!”

“A wedding doesn’t plan itself, Ginny.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Mike grinned, bumping Ginny’s shoulder. He and her mom laughed, leaving Ginny's annoyance to only deepen. 

So that was how it was gonna be. Who cared if Mike was more interested in the details of the wedding than Ginny was? She just wanted to marry him; she didn't care how it happened. He was the one with opinions. Of course, he had a basis for comparison. He  _had_  told her they needed to start making decisions, but it wasn’t like her mom needed to know that. Where was his loyalty?

While Ginny’d been aware of Mike’s weird thing about parents and even enjoyed it most of the time, she really hadn’t expected him to throw her under the bus because of it. He offered her a slightly sheepish grin and looped his arm around her waist. It wasn’t enough.

She smiled up at him, but inside, Ginny was already plotting her payback.

 

* * *

  

The next morning, Mike stumbled downstairs, having only barely remembered to pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before leaving his and Ginny’s bedroom. It would be hard to score brownie points with Ginny’s mom if she caught him wandering the house dressed only in his boxers. Or less. The only person he was interested in showing off for was his fiancée. 

So, though it was still early, he wasn’t taking any chances.

And he wasn’t going to just hole up in bed. Not after waking up alone.

Ginny must’ve gotten up for an early morning run. 

At least, that’s what Mike figured when he found her in the kitchen, still flushed and sweaty as she gulped down a glass of water. Miles of glowing, golden brown skin was on display in tight running shorts and a sports bra that did nothing for Ginny’s amazing chest. 

Well, Mike could do something about that. (Or so he thought.)

He came up behind her, setting his hands on her hips and his lips on her neck. 

“Morning, Gin.”

She hummed a greeting, setting down her empty glass. Her perfect ass pressed back against him and Mike didn’t bother resisting the urge to tighten his grip. Ginny’s palms settled on the edge of the counter and Mike started trying to figure out how quickly he could get both of them off. Probably no time at all, after their interrupted morning yesterday. Naturally, his dick hardened in his sweats, pressing insistently into Ginny. 

“Mike,” she sighed. 

How many of his best memories started out with her saying his name, just like that?

Unfortunately, this time wouldn’t be added to that list. 

Ginny used her leverage to push away from the counter, dancing away from Mike’s grip. “Not now. I have to take a shower and then go take my mom to meet with the wedding planner.”

He tried not to be disappointed. “Then we’ll pick this up later.”

She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “I’m gonna be exhausted. After the wedding planner, we have appointments with like seven bridal shops and God knows what else she’s got planned for tomorrow. And for every day she’s planning on being here.”

Every day?

"It’s gonna be a long time ‘til we can pick this up, Lawson,” Ginny said, an odd glint in her eye. Which became positively mischievous when she continued, “But you don’t mind, do you? After all, you were the one who got weirded out about finishing yesterday morning.”

Personally, Mike didn’t think it was strange to feel a little leery about having sex with one, or more, of their moms waiting for them downstairs. Clearly, though, Ginny felt differently. 

He rubbed a hand over his beard before smiling placidly. “That’s fine, Gin. I thought you might like to work out a little tension before your long day. With just your mom for company. But I understand.”

Ginny’s jaw worked side to side, her eyes narrowing. “Good.”

“Good.”

“Well,” she drawled, tipping her chin up in defiance, and God, Mike loved the expression on her face, “I’m gonna go shower, then.”

“Have fun,” he offered, turning to the refrigerator to start pulling out breakfast supplies. 

“Oh, I will,” she promised, her footfalls punctuated by the soft slap of slightly damp fabric against a hard surface. 

By the time Mike turned around, Ginny was already walking up the stairs, her sports bra laying on the floor behind her.

Mike wasn’t at all ashamed when he groaned and slumped until his forehead kissed the cool countertop. 

What had he gotten himself into?

 

* * *

  

Ginny fought down the the smug smirk threatening to break across her face. If she let it grow, there was no way she wouldn’t have to explain herself to her mother. Especially considering the scowl currently gracing her fiancé’s face. 

_Yeah, try to suck up now, Lawson._

And she really didn’t want to explain to her mother that she was more interested in riling up Mike than this cake tasting. Even if the cake was pretty good.

She’d just leaned into his side and laid her hand on his knee as her mother and Mike chatted with the baker over the relative merits of American versus Swiss meringue buttercream. Of course he took an interest in this, too. Each and every minute detail her mom had brought up had received Mike’s undivided attention. From themes to colors (which, apparently were _not_ the same thing) to the availability of anemones in November. He hadn't missed a beat. Unfortunately, he also hadn’t missed a single one of Ginny’s increasingly indelicate hints about Janet overstaying her welcome, either. Hadn’t missed them, but hadn’t been nearly as receptive. All of them were unceremoniously shot down to her mounting frustration.

If it hadn’t been for him, Ginny could’ve convinced her mom to go home four days ago. She could’ve had her house and peace of mind back four days ago. She could’ve had her fiancé back four days ago.

So, it was only fair to frustrate him in turn. 

It was entirely too satisfying when Mike went totally still, his thigh as hard as a rock under her wandering hand. He practically jerked in his seat when her fingers found his inseam.

Now, she pretended to listen attentively as her mom and the baker moved on to potential fillings for the cake, but her fingers continued to trace up and down Mike’s inner thigh. 

In retaliation, he draped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in close. Ginny suppressed the urge to shiver when his breath ghosted across her cheek. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Baker.”

“No game, Lawson,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth, and went back to pretending to care about cake decorating. 

Ginny didn’t even feel that bad for lying.

The past week, this game of theirs had kept her from wanting to scream with every new task her mother had decided just  _had_ to be taken care of. It didn’t beat having actual sex with Mike, but she was sure the payoff would be amazing. Phenomenal, even. 

Especially since Mike had joined in on the game, too. He hadn’t just let her murmur suggestive, dirty things in his ear every chance she got, hadn't just watched her flounce around in her skimpiest sun dresses. No, he’d given as good as he got, his customary ass smacks lingering until they were more grabs and caresses than anything else. And everything she’d learned about dirty talk had come from Mike himself. The sheer number of filthy promises he’d made in the past week would take months to fulfill. 

Ginny was looking forward to it.

And they’d start today.

After an entire week of nonstop wedding planning, Janet Baker would finally be going home to Tarboro. Her bags were packed and waiting in the car. All they needed to do was finish this appointment and drop her off at the airport and Ginny would have her life back. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother and appreciate the spirit behind her visit, but the execution left much to be desired. 

So it was with a huge sigh of relief that Ginny finally walked back into her empty house, Mike on her heels. She made her way into the kitchen and pulled down two wine glasses before uncorking the bottle of riesling she’d put in the refrigerator to chill this morning. Ginny knew herself well enough to know she’d want to celebrate. 

She guzzled the dry wine down, emptying her glass in no time at all and turning back to refill it.

Mike picked up his own glass and took a more measured sip, evaluating Ginny over the top of the rim.

He looked so good, his button up open at the throat, revealing a few curls of chest hair. All on their own, her fingers came up to comb through them. She grinned up at him, wiggling her eyebrows as she stepped into his space. “You ready for our game to come to an end?”

“So it was a game.”

Ginny rocked back to look at him. “Did you not know that?”

“Honestly, Gin,” he laughed, “I just follow your lead.”

"That sounds like a pretty solid plan,” she smiled, almost every scrap of annoyance she’d hoarded over the past seven days melting away. Who cared if Mike got along with her mom? That was a good thing—some people would kill for their partner and parents to get along. Especially when Ginny knew beyond any doubt that Mike would always be on her side first, last, and always. Even if it didn’t always feel that way. Which was definitely something they’d have to talk about. But later. 

Much, much later if she had anything to say about it.

“I like to think so.” Gingerly, Mike took Ginny’s wine glass and set it aside along with his. Their hands free, he picked up her left, thumb stroking over her sapphire engagement ring. Head tipped to the side, he smiled at her and Ginny’s heart fluttered. “It’s why I had to lock you down.”

She had to laugh. And kiss him. And probably get her hands in his pants in the very near future. 

After all, the game was over, and even if she hadn’t  _won_  per se, having Mike on her side (and very soon in her bed if she played her cards right) was reward enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think i said I would expand on this? I don't remember. It ended up being less of a fun little thing than I initially intended, though I did abandon ship on that front by the end. Nice to know I'm as angst-averse as always.
> 
> Anyway, what'd you think? I was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for a relative to fly across the country unannounced and landed on: there isn't one. But a bawson wedding seemed like the closest I was going to get. (Sidenote: what colors does Mike settle on for the wedding? Are they blush and bashful??)


	51. it's sinking in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Mike/Blip/the team's reaction to the video of Ginny's dunk into the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Mike is a disaster, Mike's POV/prequel to chapter 9: [right between the ribs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19914139), post-Wear It
> 
> chapter title: "Liar, Liar" by A Fine Frenzy

Mike rolled into the clubhouse later than he’d been in weeks. If his hangover of pretty epic proportions weren’t sufficient as an excuse, the fact that he’d spent last evening in the company of first his pissed off pitcher and then his ex-wife plus her current fiancé—in the house where Mike had once dreamed of starting a family—more than made up the difference. 

That he’d also had to drive all the way back to La Jolla from the dinner party from hell, painfully sober and replaying the way Rachel’d lingered in his arms, smelling so familiar and like everything he’d once wanted, hadn’t helped. Maybe if he hadn’t had those two interminable hours to himself, mulling and obsessing over every detail of the night and how he couldn’t seem to keep even one woman in his life, Mike wouldn’t have gotten home and immediately raided his bar to drown his sorrows and uncertainties.

But he had, and now he was stuck nursing both an ugly hangover and the usual parade of regrets.

And a few new ones.

Stalking through the bowels of Petco, sunglasses firmly in place even in the low lighting, Mike tried to shake Amelia’s parting shot to him, but his mind was like an echo chamber.

 _You know, your head wasn’t really in it, anyway. You should figure out where it’s been_.

Well, he knew the answer to that. With Rachel. It was why he’d gone over there, after all. 

Wasn’t like Ginny’d miss him from her ridiculous party with all her fawning fans, anyway. In fact, she hadn’t seemed to miss him, or their evening chats or their morning workouts or their ability to exist in the same space, at all. 

Which didn’t matter because Mike still wanted Rachel back. 

She was the only one he could want. Back. She was the only one he could want back.

With great effort, Mike shut off that train of thought and tried to start coming up with retorts for all the ribbing he was bound to endure the minute he walked into the clubhouse, late and clearly worse for the wear. It wasn’t that he’d stopped loving his grand entrances, but maybe he could admit that showing up with more than enough time to suit up and stumble onto the field before BP was helping his game. It’d been a while since he’d cut it so close. The sudden reappearance of his old habits was bound to stir up some shit. 

Which was why it was more than a little bizarre to walk into the clubhouse and have his presence go completely unnoted. Never mind the comebacks he’d crafted that now had no outlet. He was their captain, god damn it! His arrival should mean something. 

That was definitely not the case today. His team of lazy losers all had their noses practically glued to their phones and tablets, either couched out at their lockers or gathered in little knots around the clubhouse. 

All of them but one. 

Blip sat with his back to the room, shoulders hunched and a worried pucker denting his forehead as he methodically rolled a bat between his palms. He didn’t even look up at Mike’s approach.

Not until he huffed a grouchy, “Hey,” that was.

That startled the center fielder out of his thoughts and got him to at least acknowledge his friend and captain. Rather than say anything about his tardiness, though, Blip demanded, “Man, where’d you disappear to last night?”

Taken aback, Mike lied, “Had to pick up some of my stuff from the house,” and threw his bag in his locker and dropped his sunglasses on a shelf. He couldn’t help but wince at the glare from the overheads. God, he definitely should’ve taken more aspirin this morning.

Blip seemed doubtful, but was apparently willing to let it slide, which was absolutely a first in their friendship. What the hell was going on today? “Well, we could’ve used you,” was all he replied, like that made any sense, and went back to warming the barrel of his bat. 

Mike just rolled his eyes, slumped into his chair, and started unbuttoning his flannel. Used him for what? No one at that party was remotely interested in his presence. Certainly not whatever “we” Blip meant.

“Yo, Lawson!” called… someone.

Honestly, he was too fucking exhausted to care who it was. Still, he grunted his acknowledgement, continuing to change out of his street clothes and get ready for warmups. Was it too much to wear both eyeblack and sunglasses? Considering the way the soft incandescents in here were stabbing into his brain, the San Diego sun was going to be murderous. 

He almost missed the follow up question in his deliberations.

“You seen what Baker got up to last night?”

What?

Mike swiveled his chair around to face the room as a whole. If Stubbs, who must’ve been the one to ask considering how close he was, startled back at the forbidding frown on his captain’s face, that wasn’t high on Mike’s list of priorities. 

“What d’you mean, ‘What Baker got up to?’ She was at her party.”

“Nah, man,” replied Sonny, from all the way across the room. “Girl went rogue.”

Suddenly, Amelia’s texts last night, long after he’d left the Nike shindig, made much more sense. He’d ignored both the,  _Have you seen Ginny?_  and the follow up,  _???_  five minutes later in favor of trying to pick apart his wife’s fiancé. Now, he wished he hadn’t, and not just because he hadn’t managed to ruffle any of David’s feathers. He should’ve realized something had actually gone wrong if Amelia was actually reaching out to him. 

Not that he would’ve been able to do anything if he had. Certainly not with how pissed Baker’d been at him last night. After she walked away from him on the step and repeat, she hadn’t let herself come within five feet of him all evening. And it wasn’t like she’d’ve taken his call, not if the past week had been any indication. 

Okay. Maybe she’d been pissed for longer than just last night. 

Still, that didn’t do much to ease the guilt settling in his gut. He could’ve  _tried_ to call.

(He had, in fact, stared at Ginny’s contact information in his phone for a long time last night. Had been this close to calling her, begging her to let him back in. But, moody and drunk as he’d been, he hadn’t been stupid. Mike still knew she wouldn’t pick up. He’d tossed his phone away and opted for more bourbon.)

Sweeping his gaze around the clubhouse, it wasn’t lost on Mike that everyone was very interested in his response. The next chair over, Blip was very still.

He played it cool. 

“Rogue, huh? Now this I’ve gotta see.”

Immediately, three phones were shoved in his face, all with the same video cued to play. 

Mike took the closest one and watched the scant minute of footage: all the way from Ginny bouncing eagerly on the mini trampoline, her quest for shoes, the grinning banter with someone off camera, the superhero leap and dunk, her burst through the surface of the water, crowing, “What else you got?” before falling back, a feral grin on her lips.

He watched it all. 

(Right up to her clambering out of the pool, nimble fingers already reaching around to tug down the zipper of that god damn, dress. That dress that clung even more stubbornly to her after its impromptu soaking.)

He flung the phone back at its owner before he could see more and tried to come up with something, anything, to say that didn’t hint at the roiling in his gut which suddenly had nothing to do with last night’s drinking.

“Well, boys, looks like Baker can wipe the floor with you on the court, too.”

His (weak) joke seemed to open the floodgates. Immediately, the clubhouse filled with excited chatter that Mike made himself wade through. 

“Told you! Girl’s got mad hops!”

“She’s killing it on twitter. There’re at least three trending hashtags devoted to that dunk!”

“Kinda funny she couldn’t find a pair of Nikes, though.”

From what Mike could tell, the team consensus was largely positive. The few holdouts on the Ginnsanity front could admit that she knew how to blow off steam like a real major leaguer. The rest of the team was absurdly proud of her poolside antics. Her dunk was their dunk. It didn’t matter that this was all the press would ask about today and probably for the rest of the week. With one leap, Ginny’d proven she had the balls to hang with them. 

Mike, however, wasn’t so sure. 

In the nearly two months that he’d known her, he’d come to realize that Ginny’s calm, unflappable facade wasn’t just an act. She wasn’t a robot, felt things acutely, in fact, but she was pragmatic, too. Why waste all this energy losing her cool at every slight provocation? Sure, she knew how to stand up for herself, but most of the time, she picked her battles wisely. Better to buckle down and prove that she deserved every opportunity that came her way. Let her success speak for itself.

But that Ginny was nowhere to be seen in the video he just watched.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t the same person, though. It was still Ginny Baker, just gone off the rails. 

Which was when it occurred to Mike that maybe they’d been heading to a blowout like this for a while now. Maybe Ginny could be calm and unflappable because she’d known there were people who had her back. She had her friends and the team. She had him. She had Amelia. 

But maybe that was hard to believe when he and Amelia suddenly had each other. 

Fuck. 

Without a word, Mike pushed to his feet, fully intending to set the record straight.

“I doubt she wants to see you, dude,” came his center fielder’s voice. When Mike turned, Blip had his arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face.

“I’m her captain,” he rumbled. “Doesn’t matter if she wants to see me. She’s gonna.”

Blip’s eyes narrowed and he came in close, though it was more likely an effort to keep anyone else from putting their nose where it didn’t belong than an intimidation tactic. 

“She’s already had a long day, Mike. She doesn’t need anyone ragging on—”

“I just need to know she’s okay,” Mike interrupted, trying to tamp down on the indignation burning in his chest. Like he’d actually go rub her nose in whatever bad decisions she’d made last night. Like he could judge. “That’s all.”

Blip evaluated him for a long moment before offering him the barest of nods and stepping away. 

Still, Mike was fully aware of the other man’s eyes on him as he stopped outside Baker’s door and knocked. 

It was a good thing, he told himself, that Ginny had such good friends on her side. He’d feel better, though, when he could count himself among that number again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this collection! There is a new one coming—once I pick out a new line from Centerfield for the title, that is. It's pretty slim pickings considering how many I've already used, but I'm a creature of habit above all else, it's not like I'm gonna go find another source of fic titles. 
> 
> How do you think the dunk heard 'round the world was received in the Padres clubhouse? Is it just Mike, Blip, and the front office worrying? Hmm, I might need to think about Ginny's relationship with the bullpen... Anyway, I'd love to hear what you thought! Here, or on tumblr where I'm megaphonemonday!


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